American Wheeze

I've grown tired of the words of the single man
Hangin' lifeless on his every word, oh no, man
You don't understand, dear man
The little angel held out her hand
Sayin', "Father, Father, I love you"
Oh, praise Jesus, I got you

Okay, yeah, billy goat, an' we'll play farm
I didn't mean to spirit stiff you
Nor to do you no harm
You say you've got a bone to pick
Well, there's plenty showin' on me
Come on up, yeah, bring your temper, boy
We'll see, we'll see

Yeah, you may be the one, come on, son
Bring your blade and your gun
And if I die by your hand, Lord
I've got a home in Glory Land