I'll shoot you dead   For the father   Of the coal miner's daughter   Beneath the icicle tusk   You and me among the flattering dusk      In my haste I draw my weapon   Designing your final lesson   As you recede to the floor   All is silent but the fluttering door      Twenty-five grand on the table   Of the high wall street stable   I'm not responsible for   The reputation of the   Neighborhood whore      But I'm a keyhole peeker   And you're my surveilance keeper   And though my memory rusts   I will always see the icicle tusk      And I must admit   That it gets lonesome on my shelf   This much I can tell   This much I can tell