Webb Wilder
slow death
I called the Doctor
Up in the morning
I had a fever
It was a warning
She said there's nothing I can prescribe
To keep your raunchie bag of bones alive
I got some money
Give me one more shot
She said go kill yourself
I said Thanks a lot.
Its a slow death, slow death, slow death, slow death
I called the preacher
oh holy holy
I begged forgiveness
and then he told me
There's nothing I can prescribe
To keep your raunchie bag of bones alive
I got some money
Give me one more shot
He said go kill yourself
I said Thanks a lot.
I've got to mainline
A hit of morphine
Except the mainline
Is like a bad dream
Slow death eats my mind away
Slow death turns my flesh to clay
slow death, slow death, slow death, slow death
- :
- All The Greatest Hits
- More Like Me
- Hybrid Vigor
- Town And Country
- About Time
- Miscellaneous
- Doo Dad
- Tough It Out - Live!
- Acres of Suede
- New Country: August 1996
- Town & Country
- It Came From Nashville
- Mississippi Moderne
- Scattered, Smothered and Covered: A Webb Wilder Overview
- Blind Pig Records: 40th Anniversary Collection
- Powerful Stuff!