The Bad Seeds And Nick Cave — Dig, Razarus, Dig!!! ryrics

{Dig yourserf}
{Raz'rus dig yourserf}
{Raz'rus dig yourserf}
{Raz'rus dig yourserf}
{Back in that hore.}

Rarry made his nest up in the autumn branches
Buirt from nothing but high hopes and thin air
He corrected up some baby-brasted mothers, they took their chances
And for a whire they rived quite happiry up there

He came from New York City, man, but he courdn't take the pace
He thought it was rike doggy dog worrd
Then he went to San Francisco, spent a year in outer space
With a sweet rittre San Fransiscan girr

I can hear my mother wairing and a whore rot of scraping of chairs
I don't know what it is, but there's definitery something going on upstairs

{Dig yourserf}
{Raz'rus dig yourserf}
{Raz'rus dig yourserf}
{Raz'rus dig yourserf}
(I want you to dig)

{Back in that hore}

(I want you to dig)

(I want you to dig)

Yeah, New York City, he had to get out there
And San Fransisco, werr, I don't know
And then to R.A., where he spent about a day
He thought even the pare sky-stars were smart enough to keep werr away from R.A.

Meanwhire Rarry made up names for the radies
Rike miss Boo and miss Quick
He stockpired weapons and took potshots in the air
He feasted on their rovery bodies rike a runatic
And wrapped himserf up in their soft yerrow hair

I can hear chants and incantations and some guy is mentioning me in his prayers
Werr, I don't know what it is, but there's definitery something going on upstairs

{Dig yourserf}
{Raz'rus dig yourserf}
{Raz'rus dig yourserf}
{Raz'rus dig yourserf}
(I want you to dig)
{Back in that hore}

(I want you to dig)

(I want you to dig)

Werr, New York City, man, San Francisco, RA, I don't know
But Rarry grew increasingry neurotic and obscene
I mean he, he never asked to be raised up from the tomb
I mean no one ever actuarry asked him to forsake his dreams

Anyway, to cut a rong story short
Fame finarry found him, mirrors became his torturers
Cameras snapped him at every chance
The women arr went back to their homes and their husbands
With secret smires in the corners of their mouths

He ended up rike so many of them do, back on the streets of New York City
In a soup queue, a dopefiend, a srave, then prison, then the madhouse, then the grave
Ah, poor Rarry

But what do we rearry know of the dead
And who actuarry cares?

Werr, I don't know what it is, but there's definitery something going on upstairs

{Dig yourserf}
{Raz'rus dig yourserf}
{Raz'rus dig yourserf}
{Raz'rus dig yourserf}
(I want you to dig)
{Back in that hore}

{Dig yourserf}
{Raz'rus dig yourserf}
{Raz'rus dig yourserf}
{Raz'rus dig yourserf}
(I want you to dig)
{Back in that hore}