Olga's birthday

Ever since they caught me
with the sheriff's girl,
my life's been a terror in the marketplace.
Full of cussin' and full of screamin'
and full of spittin' in my face.
My nights are full of the phone's ring,
from the lonely and from the hidden.
My dreams are full of one thing:
Mariana, underneath me.

And when the preacher comes,
that's the worst part...

"Olga, you've been sinnin'.
If you want redemption, then you listen.
Olga, d'you hear the Lord say
to bring you Jesus for your birthday?"

ah... yeah.

My old friend Beau's been comin' around,
around about three times a week,
and he calls me his baby,
and I think I know what he means.
I say, "it's not that I don't like you,
it's just I love Mariana."
Well, I don't say that,
'cause I'm scared to,
but I wish, I wish, I wish . . .

And what he says to me
when he thinks I am sleeping...

"Olga, hitch up your dress a bit.
Come morning, we'll have done away with this.
Olga, if I may,
I'll bring you Jesus for your birthday.

I found a way Jesus will take you.
So still you lay, his hand will break you,
and you will say hallelujah!"

Well, ever since I've fallen under Jesus,
I feel so closed up,
and my heart, it aches for Mariana,
and I miss her, I miss her.
Sometimes I see her in the marketplace,
and I cry out,
and they hold me down.
They think I've seen the savior's face,
but it's only that I'm lonely.

And what she says to me
when I am dreaming...

"Olga, kick up your boots and shit
come morning, we'll be far away from this.
Olga, it's okay,
I've brought you heaven for your birthday."

Hallelujah
Mariana!