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harsh language

lyrics written by adam ezra olshansky
composers - charles e daniels, charles f hayward, fred edwards, james w marshall, john crain, william digregorio


the devil came up to boston, he was lookin for some balls to break
he just got in from quincy, where he’d rained out a lobster bake
at the copley t this kid was sawin on a fiddle and smoking a butt
the devil jumped up on a globe dispenser, said dude let me tell you what

i bet you didn’t know it kid, but i can fuckin strum
you may think you’re all hot shit, you’re just a fuckin bum
i’ve rocked all the hot spots from the garden to the wang
i’ll bet a lotto card and a pack of marlb’s that you can’t fuckin hang

the kid said my name’s sully, and you’re a stupid fuck
if you wanna party, i’m game to earn a buck…

sully rosin up your bow and play your fiddle hard
shit’s going down in boston and the devil deals the cards
you could win a lotto card and pack of marlboro’s
but if you lose the devil gets your soul

the devil opened up his case and said i’ll fuckin start
fire flew from his finger tips, damn that shit was hot
the screech across the strings it got the subway cops all pissed
then the dropkick murphy’s showed up and it sounded something like this...

sully said good job, but i hear that shit like every hour
i’m gonna rip it up now, then you can take a fuckin shower

oil in the harbor, watch out sailor
bringin in steamers on a boston wailer
cocked in mattapan, stealin a truck
yuppies in southie, what the fuck

the devil shouted pissah, cause he knew he’d just been tossed
he started chuggin vodka to soften up the loss

sully shouted, “devil come on back if you ever wanna press you luck
i told you once you hard on, you’re a wicked stupid fuck”