I am the last ringer of my mother's words
Ah, deep, stray Georgia ain't gonna do you no good
What a shame, trampled in the dirt

My roof holds a murder of sinister birds
But i knew all that a long time ago
A name, i've had from birth

I am Jack, the good, the bad
I've kept the peace that we never have had
Whatever aces have never been mine

Can't say much, though, i've had my chance
But only a fool would give his feet for Tennessee
Or his pride overseas

So i've settled myself along the two-six O'
Next house lives Mo, a charming drunk
And I sleep moderate

I watch Mo from my humble porch
Beatin spoonfed nuts with a haystack fork
Ain't gonna do nothin'

They walk with their skulls on corked on top
And their borders circling their feet
We never meet, except on work

Where i shove, and drag, and kick them around
Lights off, not making a sound
All the way down the pits I'm sure I'm meant for

And likewise on this very fatefull day
Finding a punk passed out in barn hay
Oh well, It's my job i say, and push

And wouldn't you know, looming like a crow
There's good ol' Mo, with an all loaded gun
And he's gonna fire

Flash, bang, shot down by a man that i always loved
Covering a junkie sleepin' dead on the floor
Nerves aching to my very core

Lord and saviour, it hurt so bad
Must have been the only pain I've ever had
Rollin' around clinging to my chest

"Why would you? Have you gone insane?" i say
He flips his pipe, "You may just have been of 'em
With that hole in your gut

I look down and, damn, he's right
Hole on hole on hole on hole
Might have been from the gunshot though

I bend to the dust like a bootkicked dog
And the fog, and the dark log to the barn
There's a bark from Mo, he laughs

So on this fatefull day i utter these fatefull words
Like the birds always do
"Hey, Mo, fuck if I ever again do a favour for you"