Where do bad folks go when they die?They don't go to heaven where the
angels flyThey go down to the lake of fire and fryWon't see them again
till the fourth of July I knew a lady who came from DuluthShe got bit
by a dog with a rabid toothShe went to her grave just a little too
soonAnd she flew away howling on the yellow moon Now the people cry
and the people moanAnd they look for a dry place to call their homeAnd
try to find some place to rest their bonesWhile the angels and the
devilsFight to claim them for their own
