alkalinenerd

Well I'll take two shots said the devil to the man and layed a little book on the bar,
well Lord knows the devil he only talks shit and only drinks whiskey from the jar,
and his hands were raw, and his eyes were cold,
and his breath was pure alcohol and the sound of his voice, it never got old,
and he talked and talked and talked through the night,
kept sippin' his 'shine 'til the mornin' light tumbled in through the shades and as he started to go I put three bullets in his back.