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DEVILS DAUGHTER

from Welcome to Pronghorn Country by Pronghorn

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lyrics

I've got trouble, I've got grime, got survival on my mind
I've been shot but the job was not complete.
I just feel like I ought' a, but all I want is water,
and all I've got's this sand between my feet.

Sun is blazin' in the sky, can't work out the reason why,
Mud 'n' blood 'n' grit 'n' left me here for dead.
Crawling through this sand and squalor, I just feel dried up and hollow,
with the wild birds preying above my head.

Hmmm, hmmm, Doo doo doo

And this storey so begins, with a preacher and his kin,
A Mexicano and lady of the night.
Way down below the boarder, where Cartel keep us in order,
or at least that's what they'd like to make you think.

Spent a night in Ol' Chihuahua, with a hooker by the hour,
To say the least I felt just like a punk!
Coz she was the preachers daughter, I just don't think you ought'a
But rational just ain't the way I think

Hmmm, hmmm, Hmmm, hmmm, Hmmm, hmmm, Doo doo doo

Met a guy from ol' Cancun, I dug his heart out with a spoon.
Coz while I slept he cut me with a knife.
The reason for this slaughter, it was the preachers daughter,
and that lady of the night, she was his wife!

Gaffa tapped and tied and bound, I was dragged across the ground,
Beaten, bruised, and bloodied, I was left for dead.
The gin soaked preachers son, had shot me with his gun,
and left me in the desert full of dread.

Hmmm, hmmm, Hmmm, hmmm, Hmmm, hmmm, Doo doo doo

I've got trouble, I've got grime, got survival on my mind
I've been shot but the job was not complete.
I just feel like I ought' a, but all I want is water,
and all I've got's this sand between my feet.

Sun is blazin' in the sky, can't work out the reason why,
Mud 'n' blood 'n' grit 'n' left me here for dead.
Crawling through this sand and squalor, for she was the Devil's daughter.
With that in mind, there's no more to be said.

Hmmm, hmmm, Hmmm, hmmm, Hmmm, hmmm, Doo doo doo

credits

from Welcome to Pronghorn Country, released September 2, 2022

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Pronghorn Bournemouth, UK

From the heady days of blagging festival wristbands and jumping security fences, armed with an array of kitchen apparatus which were subsequently bashed and thumped to the percussive rhythm of various stringed instruments, Pronghorn have streamlined their operation down to a straight six, and with the maturity of a well-aged cider, have become a potent brew with an abv% that could pickle turnips ... more

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