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I'll shoot you dead
For the father
Of the coal miner's daughter
Beneath the icicle tusk
You and me among the flattering dusk
In my haste I draw my weapon
Designing your final lesson
As you recede to the floor
All is silent but the fluttering door
Twenty-five grand on the table
Of the high wall street stable
I'm not responsible for
The reputation of the
Neighborhood whore
But I'm a keyhole peeker
And you're my surveilance keeper
And though my memory rusts
I will always see the icicle tusk
And I must admit
That it gets lonesome on my shelf
This much I can tell
This much I can tell
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