[ Featuring Brick Moltz ]
One, two, three, four
Down in Louisiana, out in Paradis
Got your black man, got your white
Out in the swamp, with the mud and the snakes
Time grows long, ain't much light
Skinny Clarence said, "Now boy, best sharpen that stick
This line got to be straight."
So he got me a file, I shaved that blade awhile, use it to cut my way
We cut the man a line, wasps so thick
They stung all our hands and our face
They chase us and we run pour gasoline
Where they stung
Till I thought I'd best get out of that place
But Clarence said, "Now son, you're gonna stick it out
We all 'fraid of gators and of snakes
Wasps ain't but little things, won't kill or hurt you much
And by cutting, you might find your way"
God don't live, not out here
Might haunt a church somewhere
Light yourself a candle, why not play the angles
But chances are, he don't care
Me and Clarence kept our blades sharp, a White one and a Black
He was right about the wasps and I don't mind snakes
Till one day we crossed a chapel, where the Klan prayed its sermons
Clarence said, "You can't expect for good things every day"
That night outside a roadhouse, where black people let us drink
A crowd of klansmen in the dark
Singled out old Clarence as the leader of our ring
They beat him till there weren't much left at all
No one down in Paradis recalls that skinny man
And the people say, God runs their town
Me, I stay among cypress trees and sometimes rest against their knees
Think about when Clarence was around
Anger is a fire, maybe burnyou down
Then again, maybe light you up
Got an anger in this blade, no decent God could have made
Clarence did that with what you'd call love
God don't live, not out here, might haunt a church somewhere
Light yourself a candle, why not play the angles
But chances are, he don't care
