Lydia's Black Lung Testo

(The) preacher's emptying his bucket.

(Chorus)
Forks in the road
Pock marks in starch-white shirts.(2x)


Carcass rotting in the yard, by the motel.
(The) Bayou's washed it on the shore.
Maggots turned up butterflies in the deep south.
Here I am running from the pulpett.



(Chorus repeated endlessly).