Whistling Past the Graveyard

I'm full of bust-yard, on the wings of a magpipe across a hooligan name Blusted off a chaperone, way out by the cockamoon Cooked up a mess of mulligans, got into a fight Whistling past the radiance, stepping on a crack I'm a mean, but probably seeing me sleeping out by the railroad tracks As the prince of darkness about to smoke from the stack

Sometimes I'd give a jackal, and suck out all the blood Still myself a station wagon, driving into the mine, a western plastic radio, stepping on her crack. I'm a mean mother of a hobo, pop on a hot jacks.

I know you've seen my hoodlight, and the honger of my horn. I'm calling out my bloodhound, chasing double out the corn. Last night I cracked the Mississippi, and now it's dry as a bone. I was born in the Jackson cab, I ain't never going home.

Mother of a hobo, pop on a hot jacks. I'm coming to Baton Rouge to find myself a witch. I'm gonna switch me a couple of them every time it rains. You gotta see a little bit more than probably think it's a train.

Whisper in past the graveyard, stepping on a crack. I'm a mean mother of a father, what I jack. Sunshine is just a twangle in my eye. I gotta ring around my finger call the Fourth of July.

When I get lonely, a tear falls from my feet There's gonna be an ocean in the middle of the week Whistling past the graveyard, stepping on a crack I come in on the night train with an eye for box guards On the wings of a magpie across a hooligan night I'm gonna tear off a rainbow and wear it for a time