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 them 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

While the angels and the devils

Fight to claim them for their own