Never saw no yankee curls
curled half as tight as you.
The mountains that surround me now
ain’t half as hard as you.
and I’m waiting on your lady disguise,
waiting for the gleam in your eyes
that could tell me where
the cool vat grey of your bullets lie.
Your fingernails are sharp as knives
that could splice a bullets eye, and
you love to lay your hand on the shirt of a man
till you find out what’s inside,
You sit and spin, you’ll never win, you sit and spin.
You told everyone I was the devil’s son,
but the devil lives down below.
I’ve seen you there with the comb in your hair
when you’re coming back from the glow.
And the time ticks by in your thighs,
the curls hang down in your eyes, and
the string on your ankle drags back to the
chamber where my hot black daddy lies.
Your waist is thin as a fishing pin,
your skirts hang three feet wide,
but all the lace in the human race
it can’t hide what’s inside.
You sit and spin, you’ll never win, you sit and spin.
“UnHOLY Love!” is what my daddy cried,
“There ain’t no shade, no lemonade that
could pull me from the wrong, wrong side.
I’m gonna roll my uniform up in a box,
slide it to me lady’s cave.
Lay my body down in the grave,
I’ll have it made in the shade.”
You told everyone I was the devil’s son,
but the devil lives down below.
I’ve seen you there with the comb in your hair
when you’re coming back from the glow.
You sit and spin, you’ll never win, you sit and spin.
You sit and spin, you’ll never win, you sit and spin.