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Fixin' to die (bukka white)

par Bob Dylan

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Feeling funny in my mind, Lord,
I believe I´m fixing to die, fixing to die
Feeling funny in my mind, Lord
I believe I´m fixing to die
Well, I don´t mind dying
But I hate to leave my children crying
Well, I look over yonder to that burying ground
Look over yonder to that burying ground
Sure seems lonesome, Lord, when the sun goes down

Feeling funny in my eyes, Lord,
I believe I´m fixing to die, fixing to die
Feeling funny in my eyes, Lord
I believe I´m fixing to die
Well, I don´t mind dying but
I hate to leave my children crying
There´s a black smoke rising, Lord
It´s rising up above my head, up above my head
It´s rising up above my head, up above my head
And tell Jesus make up my dying bed.

I´m walking kind of funny, Lord
I believe I´m fixing to die, fixing to die
Yes I´m walking kind of funny, Lord
I believe I´m fixing to die
Fixing to die, fixing to die
Well, I don´t mind dying
But I hate to leave my children crying.
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