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McDonald |
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She hides in an attic concealed on a shelf |
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Behind volumes of literature based on herself |
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And runs across the pages like some tiny elf |
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Knowing that it's hard to find |
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Stuff way back in her mind |
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Winds up spending all of her time |
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Trying to memorize every line |
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Sweet Lorraine, ah sweet Lorraine. |
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Sweet lady of death wants me to die |
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So she can come sit by my bedside and sigh |
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And wipe away the tears from all my friends eyes |
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Then softly she will explain |
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Just exactly who was to blame |
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For causing me to go insane |
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And finally blow out my brain |
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Sweet Lorraine, ah sweet Lorraine. |
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Well you know that it's a shame and a pity |
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You were raised up in the city |
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And you never learned nothing 'bout country ways |
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Ah 'bout country ways. |
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The joy of life she dresses in black |
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With celestial secrets engraved in her back |
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And her face keeps flashing that she's got the knack |
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But you know when you look into her eyes |
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All she's learned she's had to memorize |
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And the only way you'll ever get her high |
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Is to let her do her thing and then watch you die |
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Sweet Lorraine, ah sweet Lorraine. |
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Now she's the one who gives us all those magical things |
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And reads us stories out of the I Ching |
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Then she passes out a whole new basket of rings |
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That when you put on your hand |
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Makes you one of the Angel Band |
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And gives you the power to be a man |
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But what it does for her you never quite understand |
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Sweet Lorraine, ah sweet Lorraine. |
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Well you know that it's a shame and a pity |
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You were raised up in the city |
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And you never learned nothing 'bout country ways |
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Oh 'bout country ways, oh 'bout country ways |
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Yeah about country ways, oh country ways ... |
