Where do bad folks go when they die They don't go to heaven where the angels fly They go to the lake of fire and fry Won't see 'em again 'til the fourth of July Now I knew a lady who came from Duluth She got bit by a dog with a rabid tooth She went to her grave just a little too soon and flew away howlin' on a yellow moon -repete o Refrão- Now people howl and people moan and look for a dry place to call their own and try to find somewhere to rest their bones for the angels and the devil fight to make 'em their own
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