She runs around wif bikers, She cheats, she steals, she lies! She hang around in bar-rooms

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Skeptic Tank!

She runs around wif bikers, She cheats, she steals, she lies! She hang around in bar-rooms Lookin' fo' crazy highs! Ah gots de blues, Dem Whore o' Babylon Blues! She's Satan's mistress, buddy, But you an' me is who she screws! She's six foot two o' muscle, Wif leather, lace an' steel. If ya don't watch out you'll end up Under her four inch heel! Ah gots de blues, Dem Whore o' Babylon blues! Dis heartache an' pain Are gonna to drive me ta booze! She run away and lef' me Wif a milkman dressed in white. Now she say she wanna come back, But she still sneaks out at night! Ah gots de blues, Dem Whore of Babylon blues! John saw her in a vision An' if you do, you gonna lose! She done some time in prison, Fo' what, I will not say. But still she'll get in heaven, Come that Judgement Day! Ah gots de blues, Dem Whore o' Babylone blues! If dey lock up de gates, She'll ride in on Pizuz'! ('u yeah!)

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E-Mail Fredric L. Rice / The Skeptic Tank