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The man is coming in the morning When you got your ticket The drug you've still been taking They don't make you any sicker All the places you've been sleeping They make you seem like you're wicked Whippoorwill singing a poor sad world He's writing his note down I'm sorry my angel, morning time But I think I've gotta leave you He's laying here shut in the duct work He's laying his head back Who's gonna cry for poor sad world? There ain't a motherfucker Who's gonna cry for poor sad world? Maybe the whippoorwill