| Who’ll build a box for Black Paul?
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| Ah’m enquirin on behalf of his soul
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| Ah’d be beholdin to ya all
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| For a lil information, just a little indication
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| Just who’ll dig the hole?
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| When ya done ransackin’his room
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| grabbin any damn thing that shines,
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| throw the scraps down on the street
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| Like all his books and his notes.
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| All his books and his notes and
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| All the junk that he wrote
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| the whole fucken lot right up in smoke
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| Ain’t there nuthin sacred anymore
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| Won’t someone will build a box for Black Paul?
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| And their shootin off his guns
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| and their shootin off their mouths
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| saying 'Fuck with us … and die!'
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| 'Fuck with us … and die!'
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| (Let's see that rat of fear go scuttle in their skulls)
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| 'Cover that eye! |
| Cover that frozen eye!'
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| Black-puppet, in a heap up against the stoning-wall
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| Black-puppet, go to sleep, ma-ma won’t scold ya anymore
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| Armies of ants, wade up the lil red streams
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| they’re headin for the mother-pool
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| O lord, it’s cruel! |
| O man it’s hot! |
| O man it’s hot and
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| And some of them ants they just climb to the spot
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| Who threw the first stone at Black Paul?
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| 'Don't ask us', say the critics and the hacks
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| The pen-pushers and the quacks
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| 'We jes cum to git dah facks!'
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| 'We jes cum to git dah facks!'
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| Hey, hey, hey, hey…
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| Here is the hammer, that built the scaffold,
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| and built the box…
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| Here is the shovel, that dug the hole,
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| in this ground of rocks…
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| And here is the pile of stones!
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| and for each one planted, God only knows,
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| a blood-rose grown…
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| These are the true Demon-Flowers!
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| These are the true Demon-Flowers!
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| Stand back everyone! |
| Blood-black everyone!
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| Who’ll build a box for Black Paul?
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| Who’ll carry it up the hill?
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| 'Not I', said the widow, adjusting her veil
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| 'Ah will not drive the nail
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| Or cart his puppet-body home,
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| For ah done that one hundred times before,
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| Yeah! |
| ah done that one hundred times or more,
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| And why should ah dress his wounds?
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| When he has wounded my dress, nightly,
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| Right across the floor'
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| Who’ll build a box for Black Paul?
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| Who’ll carry it up the hill?
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| Who’ll bury it in the black-soil?
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| And from the woods and the thickets
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| Come the ghosts of his victims
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| 'We love you!'
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| 'Ah love you!'
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| 'and this will not hurt a bit,
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| Outta my eyes was your rise to full glory Spring up from the corp (??
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| ) of life we’ll go up, up, up, up, up into Death
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| up, up, up, up, inhale its breath
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| O yes, Death favours those that favor Death'
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| Here is the stone, and this is the inscription it bare:
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| 'Below Lies Black Paul, Under The Upper…
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| But Above and Beyond The Surface-Flat-Fall There.'
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| And all the angels come on down,
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| And all you men and women crowd around
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| And all the old widows weeping into their skirts
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| And all the lil gals and the lil Boys
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| And the scribes with their pens poised
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| All the hullaballoo, all the norse
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| All the hullaballoo, all the noise
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| All the hullaballoo, all of the noise
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| clears his throat of black blood
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| singin Black Paul like a lonely boy…
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| We-e-e-ll, ah have cried one thousand tears
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| Ah’ve cried a thousand tears, its true
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| And the next stormy night you know,
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| That ah’m still cryin them for you
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| Well, ah had a gal she was so sweet,
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| Red dress, and long red hair hangin down
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| And heaven yes ain’t heaven
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| Without that lil girl hangin around
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| Well, ya know ah’ve beenn a bad-man
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| and Lord knows ah done some good things too
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| But ah confess, my soul will never rest
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| Until you’ve, until you’ve build
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| Until you’ve built a box for my gal, too.
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| my gal, too
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| my gal, too |