The Devils in the details
And your reverend's into retail
Your soul's alone in this world of stone, you'll find
So what can you do
You wery Wandering Jew?
Well, every dirt road leads to the South for ya this time
Yeah, they all lead home
But not the ramshackle tracks down Sheenan Brigde Road
Don't go pokin' down that crooked Old Spur Line
Yeah, tread ye not down the dirty rotten Old Spur Line
Two railroads diverged in a yellow wildwood
It's raining meat, poppin' dents in your hood
It's a mortal coil of blackjack vines
Blurred around the egdes hangs a red-soaked sky
Dryrotted, woodentheet-like ties
s**in' up the muck in the trenches down the side
Don't ye go pokin' down that crooked Old Spur Line
Tread ye not down the dirty rotten Old Spur Line
Hear the greasy, greasy grandma
Bowin' on a bowesaw
She says "Do as thou wilt shall be whole of my law."
Well, she crosses her eyes
And she dots her tees
And she pokin' with a stick, when you swinging in the breese
Well, ya heard what she said
Ya got rocks in your head?
And hear banjo's turned to f#DEAD
Don't go pokin' down the crooked Old Spur Line
See po' 'Rithmethic, the crippled dog run
He puts down three and he carries the one
And Deacon Snitch paintin' pants on the thighs
Of the little naked pigs on a barbeque sign
People ain't right in the head down there
Do a quick about face for ye best beware
Tread ye not down the crooked Old Spur Line
Trek down the track and it's at your own peril
The fields are all fallow and the beasts are all feral
Dead cows in the boughs of the Live Oak trees
Left there to rot when the water recedes
No progress is made and the buildings tumble down
And the only thing that grows are the gullies all around
Tread ye not down the dirty rotten Old Spur Line