Where do bad folks go when they die?
They don't go to heaven where the angels fly
They go down to the lake of fire and fry
Won't see 'em again till the fourth of july
I knew a lady who came from duluth
She got bit by a dog with a rabid tooth
She went to her grave just a little too soon
And she flew away howling on the yellow moon
Now the people cry and the people moan
And they look for a dry place to call their home
And try to find some place to rest their bones
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