Well i‘ll take two shots said the devil to the man
And layed a little book on the bar well lord knows
The devil he only talks shit and only drinks whiskey
From the jar and his hands were raw and his eyes were
Cold and his breath was pure alcohol and the sound of
His voice it never got old and he talked and talked and
Talked through the night kept sippin his shine till the
Mornin light tumbled in through the shades and as he
Started to go i put three bullets in his back.
Well the devils bleedin crude oil from a hole in
His chest and its panging on the bedpan drippin
Through the bedsheets and all the businessmen are
Putting pails beneath his wounds and pawin the oil
At the market well his heart ain‘t made of nothin.