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You made Death grumble, boy
He not pleased that a little squirt like you got away
He had you choking on your mama's apron strings,
with that foolhardy, playful dare you made
Said you was gonna cross Bim Argut's field,
and you wasn't scared of his menacing sign
Hope that pretty young thing you were trying to impress,
comes to your funeral in her best Sunday dress
"No Trespassing" is what the rusted, buck shot at, sign said
"Private Property," so that means you better stay off
You can leave walking,
or you can leave being carried away on your back dead
Yeah, Death thought he had you, little bugger
Had you in Bim's gunsight, but he didn't squeeze the trigger right
Even after you turned tail and ran,
Bim was still trying to hit you with his bad arthritic right hand
Just missed you,
Grim Reaper thought he had you
Dead to rights, you was almost his
At that distance how did he miss ...
with a 20-gauge shotgun, even a blind man
could've gave you a silver pellet kiss
Maybe your big friend from on high helped you,
if he did, I don't know why
You ain't nothing but a troublemaker,
a short life is written in the stars
You won't live long enough
to raise glasses in honky-tonk bars
Now gon' run back to your papa
in your blue jeans with the brown backside
Yeah, run back to your mama
in your white sneakers with the yellow streak,
like you done cried
Death's gonna get you one day,
everybody knows that Death don't play
Yeah, Death's gonna get you someday,
so you better start learning how to pray

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