I've walked half of this country to get to this town
To put a bill in my pocket, shake the dirt from a crown
If your worries are trouble, then your trouble, it's broke
Your bottle is empty, now there's blood on the floor
Your bottle is empty and there's blood on the floor

Well, the colors ain't mixin', your tolerance has run dry
So you board up your windows to make it through the night
They might hunt you like foxes, they'll sell you as slaves
You'll be the one throwin' fire when they make it to the grave
You'll be the one throwin' fire when they make it to the grave

Mother Mary called
She wants her son's blood washed from the walls
Mother Mary called
She wants her son's blood washed from the walls

Well, we're havin' this baby come the first of July
My job is a joke and this bank account dry
If the Lord loves His children like your good book does teach
Well, He'd burn these here bastards, put shoes on my feet
He'd burn these here bastards and put shoes, He'd put shoes on my feet

Mother Mary called
She wants her son's blood washed from the walls
Mother Mary called
She wants her son's blood washed
She wants her son's blood washed

Said she wants her son's blood washed
She wants her son's blood washed
She wants her son's blood washed

Said she wants her son's blood, my Lord
She wants her son's blood, my Lord
Said she wants her son's blood, yeah, washed from the walls