I must be the devil's daughter
What a dark father to dwell in me
I must be the devil's daughter
Such a dark father to dwell in me

 [bad word] child that I am
You can see it in my swagger
In the palmist lines of my hands
And my lips that bud like daggers

Look out young son
Look out young son
Look out young son
When I bloom [bad word] a-crawlin'
Look out young son
Look out young son
Look out young son
When I bloom [bad word] a-crawlin'

I think I'm on a mission
Should I then shield my eyes
From the furtive looks of babes-in-arms
And the cries of their poor mothers

Look out young son
Look out young son
Look out young son
When I bloom [bad word] a-crawlin'
Look out young son
Look out young son
Look out young son
When I bloom [bad word] a-crawlin'

My mama never speaks of him
Except when she's [bad word] and desperate
Even then it's just a brief retelling
of his rough love, and abandonment
Blew into town one night, and the crowd like waters parted
He headed straight toward her
And aimed to finish what he started
And I think, like him, I have to roam
With what each night delivers
It's time to make my drive be known
Turn lads into believers

Look out young son
Look out young son
Look out young son
When I bloom [bad word] a-crawlin'
Look out young son
Look out young son
Look out young son
When I bloom [bad word] a-crawlin'

I must be the devil's daughter
What a dark father to dwell in me
I must be the devil's daughter
Such a dark father to dwell in me