Tekstovi: Tori Amos. Boys For Pele. Little Amsterdam.

:
Little Amsterdam in a southern town.
Hominy, get it on the plate girl.
Momma, keep your head down.
Momma, it wasn't my bullet.

Don't take me back to the Range, back to the Range.
I'm just comin' out of the cell in my brain.
Don't go and take me back to the Range, back to the Range.
'Cause girl you've got to know these days, which side you're on.


Hmm... hmm... naha-nana-neha-neh. Nana-nana-no...non...
Momma got a shit, shit. She loved a brown man.
Then she built a bridge in the Sheriff's bed.
She'd do anything to save her man.
You see, her olives- they are cold pressed.
And her best friend is a sun dress.
But Momma, it wasn't my bullet.


No... hon... Don't take me back to the Range, back to the Range.
I'm just commin' out of the cell in my brain.
Don't go and take me back to the Range, back to the Range.
'Cause girl you've got to know these days.


Nana, nana-nana, nana, no... nana-nana, no... no... nana-nana-
All alone got a girl in the city.
Hey, got a room and a place for two.
Got a goat and a phone. I said, boy, a-you are my Fifth Avenue.
Round an around an around I go. Round an around this time for keeps.
(Say, you weren't to the hang man for me my baby, yea)
Round an around an around I go. Round an around this time for keeps.
(Say, you weren't too long then for me- me my baby)
Father only you can save my soul,
And playing that organ must'a count for something, something...
Girl you've got to know these days.


Little Amsterdam shut down today.
They buried her with a, a butter bean bouquet.
And Sheriff now can't ride away.
Like he said into the sunset.
And I won't say that he shouldn'a paid.
But Momma, it wasn't my bullet.