HANG DOWN
Redcoats and Dutchmen hanging from trees.
Nathan Hale Lane, with all those new condos
spinning. Nothing but dirt under these dirty
fingernails. I came home late yesterday, dragging
a rake. Johnny Appleseed I want to be. All over,
that so very quickly again. Here, take this apple.
-
My Packard took over your Hudson, your Ambassador
ran my Commander clear out of town. Now, I have to
look at you and see you as a farmer, which you are now
claiming to be. Underneath that body-rack, all I can
see is that you're a lady, but I guess they can be
farmers too. Apples don't fall far from the trees.
-
'Hang down your head, Tom Dooley.
Hang down your head and cry.
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley.
Poor boy, you're going to die.'
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