Where do bad folks go when they die?They don't go to heaven where the angels flyThey go down to the lake of fire and fryWon't see them again till the fourth of July
I knew a lady who came from DuluthShe got bit by a dog with a rabid toothShe went to her grave just a little too soonAnd she flew away howling on the yellow moon
Now the people cry and the people moanAnd they look for a dry place to call their homeAnd try to find some place to rest their bonesWhile the angels and the devilsFight to claim them for their own

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