It was six o' clock on Saturday Henry Parsons died. All of his good neighbors say That man was never truly satisfied. Preacherman never said no prayers Church bells didn't ring Everybody stood up and stared when some Choirgirls jumped up and started to sing He was baptized in every creek in Georgia. Devil still called his name. Every time he shot up drinking holy wine He'd spill it all down his shirt in shame. Had an auction on his from porch this morning Sold off all his clothes Sold off his four-poster bed There were debutantes and old ladies breaking out in fights in the front row Burned his house and spent the night Smoke rose thick and black Now Henry Parsons' got no place to stay If he ever gets the nerve up to come back He was baptized in every creek in Georgia. Devil still called his name. Every time he shot up drinking holy wine He'd spill it all down his shirt in shame. Everybody knows his name They've heard about his reputation They all came to see him buried down in the ground What you might call a little bit of morbid fascination What is everybody gonna say? What is everybody gonna do? Now that Henry Parsons' pa**ed away We got no one to lay our guilt on to He was baptized in every creek in Georgia. Devil still called his name. Every time he shot up drinking holy wine He'd spill it all down... He was baptized in every creek in Georgia. Devil still called his name. Every time he shot up drinking holy wine He'd spill it all down his shirt in shame.