There's a Yankee in the Cumberland with a pistol in his boot,
Dreaming about salty waters, and he's looking for a snake to shoot.
I'm thinking it won't get any worse,
I'm thinking about buying you a hat and a purse,
I'm wishing I never came here,
You know my heart was ever sincere.
Every now and then I realise you are rhythm, you are melody,
Giving me that silent torture, you might as well poison my tea.
I'm thinking it won't get any worse,
I'm thinking about buying you a hat and a purse,
I'm thinking about strangling you,
You know that was never more untrue.
(Thinking about predestination...predestination and free will,
What about that wonderful plan?)
There's a Christian underneath this house trying to recall the light,
He's praying for divine intervention; his lips are frozen to the pipe,
Are frozen to the pipe.
I'm thinking it won't get any worse,
I'm thinking about buying you a hat and a purse,
I'm dreaming about thrilling you,
Oh honey, my heart was never more true,
You know my heart was never more true,
You know my heart was never more true.
