I'll shoot you dead For the father Of the coal miner's daughter Beneath the icicle tusk You and me among the flattering dusk In my haste I draw my weapon Designing your final lesson As you recede to the floor All is silent but the fluttering door Twenty-five grand on the table Of the high wall street stable I'm not responsible for The reputation of the Neighborhood whore But I'm a keyhole peeker And you're my surveilance keeper And though my memory rusts I will always see the icicle tusk And I must admit That it gets lonesome on my shelf This much I can tell This much I can tell
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