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lyrics

Looked up at the hanging tree,
It looked back down at me,
Thought it might swallow me up.

I know where my fate lies,
Up towards the gray sky,
On the sturdiest branch of the bunch.

I may be a child,
By my eyes they glow wild,
When I catch just a trace of blood.

When the gunfighters yell,
And that gunpowder smell,
It hits me and I know I’m the one.

Mr. Gallows, Mr. Gallows,
Don’t have no mercy on me.
Tighten the noose as I whistle a tune,
From the branch of the old hanging tree.

I think I was born bad,
My mama once said that,
I’d never make much of a man.

I’m a cold-blooded kid,
With a sinister grin,
And it’s nice to know just what I am.

Mr. Gallows, Mr. Gallows,
Don’t have no mercy on me.
Tighten the noose as I whistle a tune,
From the branch of the old hanging tree.

Mr. Gallows, Mr. Gallows,
Don’t have no mercy on me.
Tighten the noose as I whistle a tune,
From the branch of the old hanging tree.

credits

from The Great American Death Rattle, released June 13, 2017

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Youngblood Supercult Topeka, Kansas

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