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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required 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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