Boys, they've got wicked things on their minds. nBefore the father said you're toein' the line. nLike a finch on Saturday, sin with wings. nGive your tongue to God, on Sunday sing. nnIt all seems fine. These things are off your mind. Remember we're born to die, nbut she was born to cry.nTo cry herself to sleep. nnRed cowards in the home of the brave. nRather the knaves and crooks that twist the good book. nPeasants, paupers, pilgrims they are the same. nThey give their dollars to God but they need their pay. nnIt all seems fine. These things are off your mind. Remember we're born to die, nbut she was born to cry. nTo cry herself to sleep.