they don't go to heaven where the angels fly
they go down to the lake of fire and fry
won't see 'em again till the fourth of july

i knew a lady who lived in duluth
she got bit by a dog with a rabid tooth
but she went to her grave a little too soon
and she flew away howling at the yellow moon

now the people cry and the people moan
and they look for a dry place to call their home
and try to find some place to rest their bones
while the angels and the devils
fight to claim them for their own