Sitting on a porch, she said
I was a bit asleep, but not dead
Waiting for the mail to come
The postman calls himself Tom
He has a dirty mind
I guess I'm to old for that
So whenever he comes closer
With his newspaper
I've got a big gun, got a big gun under my bed, my bed
Gotta shoot you, gotta shoot right trough your head, your head
I've got a big gun, got a big gun under my bed, my bed
Gotta shoot you, gotta shoot right trough your head
Just the other night, she said
He was standing at the side of my bed
You should have seen him, dressed up in black
He didn't even take off his cap
Reaching out his hand
I guess I'm too young for that
For I don't really go with strangers
Mister could you pick someone else?
I've got a big gun, got a big gun under my bed, my bed
Gotta shoot you, gotta shoot right trough your head, your head
I've got a big gun, got a big gun under my bed, my bed
Gotta shoot you, gotta shoot right trough your head, your head
Celia knows exactly how to pull the trigger
Celia knows exactly how to pull
Celia knows exactly how to pull the trigger
She doesn't know nobody