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Get the rox in the box, get the water right down to your socks |
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This bulkhead's built of fallen brethren bones |
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We all do what we can, we endure our fellow man |
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And we sing our songs to the head frames creaks and moans |
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And it's one, two, three on the wrong side of the lee |
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What were you meant for? What were you meant for? |
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And it's seven, eight, nine, you get your shuffle back in line |
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And if you ever make it to ten you won't make it again |
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And if you ever make it to ten you won't make it again |
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And you won't make a dime on this gray Granite Mountain Mine |
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Of dirt you're made and to dirt you will return |
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So while we're living here, let's get this little one thing clear |
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There's plenty of men to die, you don't jump your turn |
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And it's one, two, three on the wrong side of the lee |
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What were you meant for? What were you meant for? |
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And it's seven, eight, nine, you get your shuffle back in line |
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And if you ever make it to ten you won't make it again |
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And if you ever make it to ten you won't make it again |
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And it's one, two, three on the wrong side of the lee |
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What were you meant for? Whatever you're meant for |
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And it's seven, eight, nine, you get your shuffle back in line |
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And if you ever make it to ten you won't make it again |
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And if you ever make it to ten you won't make it again |
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And if you ever make it to ten you won't make it again |
