Howdy, I'm J.P. Dexter.
The soul of the wicked desires evil.
His neighbor find no favor in his eye.
If there was one thing that I learned,
is there ain't no honor amongst the thieves.
In the twilight of the evening,
in the dark cold of the night,
the violent mouth of the wicked,
and the slow lips of the wise,
the good Lord taketh away,
the bad tongues cut out,
the hope differed made her heart sick
in the rotten bones of the south.
The spirit of this man is a candle on the floor,
that flickers slow like a heart beat,
and his lips the snare of his soul.
The story of his shame is the raising a fool,
that never knew his father or held his working tools.
Now the fear is raised inside him
from the wickedness he's sewn.
His treasures ain't worth nothing,
cause the devil owns his soul.
It ain't the slack hand of the poor man,
nor the fast one of the rich,
that brought upon his sorrow
in his wicked path of sin.
The soul of the wicked desires evil.
His neighbor find no favor in his eye.
If there was one thing that I learned,
is there ain't no honor
amongst thieves.
