Testo originale
ENTraduzione non ancora disponibile. Mostriamo il testo originale.
Get on with it put off the fuss you chickenshit
get on with it can't you see its time to quit I
seen three men hangin' from a sycamore their bodies
were stiff as a two by four and their heads were tilted
down towards the ground and it ain't been long since they
been up there that their bodies turned cold hangin' in
that air and they might have froze before that noose got to
them old scratch has dealt us a dirty hand he had the look
of a saint but the greed of a man and his face was worn and
wrinkled like a leather book and if i put this revolver to
my head will god turn against me instead of taking pity on a
broken man? get on with it.
