typeracer

Skeletons in your closet itchin' to come outside. Messin' with your conscience in a way your face can't hide. Oh things are gettin' real funky down at the old corral, and it's not the skunks that are stinkin'. It's the stinkin' lies you tell. What did your mama tell you about lies? She said it wasn't polite to tell a white one. What did your daddy tell you about lies? He said one white one turns into a black one.