Where do bad folks go when they die
They don't go to heaven where the angels fly
Go to a lake of fire and fry
Don't see them again 'till the Fourth of July
I knew a lady who came from Duluth
Bitten by a dog wit ha rabid tooth
She went to her grave just a little too soon
Flew away howling on the yellow moon
People cry and people moan
Look for a dry place to call their home
Try to find some place to rest their bones
While the angels and the devils try to make 'em their own
Writer(s): Curtis Mathew Kirkwood
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