Bucket, Forks, Pock

Hot steam rising from the swamp, by the tar road
Crawdads kicking in the dirt
Serious cleavage in pink motels
(The) preacher’s emptying his bucket
Forks in the road
Pock marks in starch-white shirts.(2x)
Carcass rotting in the yard, by the motel
(The) Bayou’s washed it on the shore
Maggots turned up butterflies in the deep south
Here I am running from the pulpit
(Chorus repeated endlessly)