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Saddle up the horses and wear your Sunday best |
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Sing your Sacred Harp, you be holier than the rest |
|
Fill up the room with a grand and thunderous song |
|
let it rattle out the windows |
|
let is spill out on the lawn |
|
Shout, shout your praises to the man |
|
who kissed the lord |
|
to the back stabbing brother |
|
that betrayed all of this world |
|
Your Judas |
|
Yes, though you may walk in the valley of the dark |
|
there's no greater evil that the darkness in your heart |
|
with your stun guns, bloodhounds |
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needle and your razor wire |
|
your nylon shackle whipping post |
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your high tech burning tire |
|
your Judas |
|
Whiplash crack across the back, across the arms |
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and although you bound his feet, he running fast |
|
he running hard |
|
through them crickets in the corn |
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and them horses in the field |
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Hear the "caw caw" of the crows |
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See the devil at the wheel y'all |
|
Judas |
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Go on down to Alabama, Mississippi |
|
Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, Kentucky |
|
Florida, Louisiana and Tennessee |
|
Georgia, Carolina |
