Choirboy
Old Stackhouse Joe
Had a lazy eye
Sunday morning choirboy
He could sing like a lark
He had a stiletto
He sharpened all the time
Stuck a pig
And called it bloody wine
Poker night at Joe’s
Always a fight
Smoking day old
Cigarettes he’d bought one at a time
Spent some time in Quentin
Jailhouse tattoos
Scar across his cheek
From a razor in Duluth
Said she stick around
But cut him instead
She only did once
Cause now she is dead
Whiskey and wine is all that he drank
Never saw him sober
Sunday morning choirboy
He could sing like a lark
Wouldn’t want to cross him
Anytime after dark
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