All my bones, they are gone, gone, gone!Take my bones, I don’t need none.Cold, cold cupboard, lord,

All my bones, they are gone, gone, gone!Take my bones, I don’t need none.Cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothin’ to chew on!Suck all day on a cherry stone.Dig a little hole not three inches round—Spit your pit in a hole in the ground.Weep upon the spot for the starvin’ of me!‘Til up grow a fine young cherry tree.When the bough breaks, what will you make for me?A little willow cabin to rest on your knee.Well, what will I do with a trinket such as this?Think of your woman who’s gone to the west.But I’m starvin’ and freezin’ in my measly old bed!Then I’ll crawl across the salt flats, to stroke your sweet head.Come! Across the desert with no shoes on!I love you truly,or I love no one.support supportfinchlinden.com -- source link

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