She lived on a curve in the road, in an old, tar-paper shack
On the south side of the town, on the wrong side of the tracks
Sometimes on the way into town we ‘d say:
‘Mama, can we stop and give her a ride ?‘
Sometimes we did, but her hands flew from her side
Wild eyed, crazy Mary
Down a long dirt road, past the Parson‘s place
That old blue car we used to race
Little country store with a sign tacked to the side
Said ‘No L-O-I-T-E-R-I-N-G Allowed‘
Underneath that sign always congregated quite a crowd
Take a bottle, drink it down, pass it around
Take a bottle, drink it down, pass it around
Take a bottle, drink it down, pass it around
One night thunder cracked, mercy backed outside her windowsill
Dreamed I was flying high above the trees, over the hills
Looked down into the house of Mary
Terrible thoughts, newspaper-covered walls, and Mary rising up above it all
Next morning on the way into town
Saw some skid marks a