IT'S TIME
(Guitar)
On hic-ko-ry hill,
stood a wood mill
A fam-ly owned farm,
that none would harm
It was quiet...
(Guitar)
Most workers went home,
owner was walking a-lone
Just out for supplies,
no need for goodbyes
He"d be back...
(Guitar)
Downwind, shopping in the town...
Smiling, the stallion said a-loud
What a familiar sweet smell...
must be comin from Hic-ko-ry Hill
And it is...
(Guitar)
Not long a-go, he read in the paper
lyrics
My tail
My beautiful glorious tail
I stand above the rest
Yet darkness still surrounds me
As my rein stretches no further
Than our prison (all bow down at once)
My eyes
My beautiful beedy eyes
Have seen too much
Far more than any rat here will ever dream of
In our prison (all hail the all-mighty)
And though
I am considered the highest form of rat
I'm spat on by the common folk out there