The Private Dicks Band - Too Much Trouble

I shot my wife for fooling around
I chopped her up and put her deep in the ground
I went to church and knelt down and prayed
I asked why does trouble keep coming my way
The Lord he sent me to a local bar
Where I got into a fight then stole me a car

I lost my job for fooling around
Went back at night and burnt the whole place down
I didn't know the boss was working late
Cooked him good like a piece of steak
Police came and arrested me
Charged me with murder in the third degree

Too much trouble

The judge's gaze had a death ray glare
He said You're going to fry in the electric chair
One last meal then the jailer said
You got an hour till I shave your head.
I took him hostage I stole his gun
Got out of there and now I'm on the run

Too much trouble

Hitched me a lift down to Mexico
Robbed me a bank got me some dough
Crossed the border in the dead of night
Hit Tijuana as the sky got light
Heard a cop shout raise your hands
How much bad luck can a good man stand

Too much trouble

Too much trouble

Too much trouble

Written by:
Peter Cooke

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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