there hands outside ready with stones
 come to my yard
 i got whiskey an chirs
 we'll sit on the porch
 as the good men stare
 you ain't never spoke true
 i shake an angry fist at you
 you are not needed here
 to help me feel low down
 i'm doin' it fine all on my own
 i her you cryin' from cradle to coffin
 an for you there'll be no stoppin'
 i see you lyin' in a pine box with bitter words
 that's how the boy talks