Where do bad folks go when they die?They don`t go to heaven where the angels flyThey go down to the lake of fire and fryWon`t see them again till the fourth of July I knew a lady who came from DuluthShe got bit by a dog with a rabid toothShe went to her grave just a little too soonAnd she flew away howling on the yellow moon Now the people cry and the people moanAnd they look for a dry place to call their homeAnd try to find some place to rest their bonesWhile the angels and the devilsFight to claim them for their own
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