Текст песни The Ballad Of Buckethead

Who's this guitar playing sonsa bitch?
Is a question common asked
On his head a bucket of chicken bones,
On his face a plaster mask

He's the bastard son of a preacher man,
On the town he left a stain
They made him live in a chicken house
To try to and hide the shame

He was born in a coop, raised in a cage
Children fear him, critics rage
He's half alive, he's half dead
Folks just call him buckethead

Folks just call him buckethead
Folks just call him buckethead
Folks just call him buckethead
Folks just call him buckethead

Farmers would torment him as
He snuggled with the hens
They'd hose him down with water,
And steal his little friends
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Now late at night he'd sneak off
To the graveyard all alone,
And play a soapbox guitar
To the faces made of stone

Buckethead found his freedom
At the age of seventeen,
When he burned the chicked house
Down with a quart of gasoline

He did puppet shows on corners
And bought a real guitar,
And with the help of colonel Sanders,
He's bound to be a star

He was born in a coop, raised in a cage
Children fear him, critics rage
He's half alive, he's half dead
Folks just call him buckethead

Folks just call him buckethead
Folks just call him buckethead
Folks just call him buckethead
Folks just call him buckethead
Folks just call him buckethead