State Street

Dark with gold stitching
Was the jacket she wore
As she crossed
over state street
That day

With a cigarette and a silver gun
Shining in the noonday sun
She walked in
To the building
And loan

With her husband gone
And two mouths to feed
Stick 'em up they heard her say
As a tear crept down her rosy cheek

The teller saw
She was shaking like sin
And her eyes a devil blue
As she shouted
Her request
Again

God help this poor lonesome mother
She didn't have anywhere to turn
And God help this world that we live in
While we all watch it slowly burn

The sheriff spied her from the street
And drew his pistol fast
And he ran
Like a dog
In the night

Crashing through the banks glass door
He let a bullet fly
And it cut
Through her pale
Soft skin

God help this poor lonesome mother
Shot down in a pool of red
God help this world that we live in
I think that she's better off dead



Credits
Writer(s): Keith O'reilly
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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