Where do bad folks go when they die? 
They don`t go to heaven where the angels fly 
They go down to the lake of fire and fry 
Won`t see them again till the fourth of July 

I knew a lady who came from Duluth 
She got bit by a dog with a rabid tooth 
She went to her grave just a little too soon 
And she flew away howling on the yellow moon 

Now the people cry and the people moan 
And they look for a dry place to call their home 
And try to find some place to rest their bones 
While the angels and the devils 
Fight to claim them for their own