Fixin To Die

Chuck Ragan

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    Feeling funny in my mind, Lord,
    I believe I'm fixing to die, fixing to die
    Feeling funny in my mind, Lord
    I believe I'm fixing to die
    Well, I don't mind dying
    But I hate to leave my children crying
    Well, I look over yonder to that burying ground
    Look over yonder to that burying ground
    Sure seems lonesome, Lord, when the sun goes down

    Feeling funny in my eyes, Lord,
    I believe I'm fixing to die, fixing to die
    Feeling funny in my eyes, Lord
    I believe I'm fixing to die
    Well, I don't mind dying but
    I hate to leave my children crying
    There's a black smoke rising, Lord
    It's rising up above my head, up above my head
    It's rising up above my head, up above my head
    And tell Jesus make up my dying bed.

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    I'm walking kind of funny, Lord
    I believe I'm fixing to die, fixing to die
    Yes I'm walking kind of funny, Lord
    I believe I'm fixing to die
    Fixing to die, fixing to die
    Well, I don't mind dying
    But I hate to leave my children crying.

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    Composición: Booker T. Washington White

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