|
Delia, Delia, how can it be? |
|
You love that old rounder, but you don't love me |
|
Well, that's one more rounder gone |
|
Delia, Delia sitting all around |
|
Some of your old rounders gonna pay my way back home |
|
Sitting on the housetop, high as I can see |
|
You love that old rounder, but you don't love me |
|
Delia's poor mother took a trip out West |
|
When she returned, Delia lyin' in rest |
|
Delia's mother wept, Delia's father moaned |
|
They'd have wanted their poor child to die at home |
|
Rubber tired buggy, two-seated hack, |
|
Took Delia to the graveyard, never brought her back |
|
Kenny lookin' high, Kenny lookin' low, |
|
Shot poor Delia with that hated .44 |
|
Delia, Delia, wouldn't take no one's advice |
|
Last words I heard her say were, "Jesus Christ!" |
|
Judge said to Kenny, "Here's a natural fact: |
|
You going to wait in jail till Delia come back" |
|
Kenny's in the basement, drinking from a silver cup |
|
Delia's in the graveyard, never come back up |
|
Kenny said to judge, "What's the fuss about? |
|
Just that no good woman trying to put me out" |
