Lottery

Misfortune, got you like a sickness

the saints and angels all agree

trouble sure as trouble sees it

I need it in writing to believe

to believe

the target was your heart in the beginning

now there digging soft ground for your grave

I hope the mourners will bring plastic flowers

they'll drink to your death with pink champagne

pink champagne

now I hear your widow crying

her weaping I made into this song

it's popular with the disco dancers

they'll play it on the radio all week long

all week long

misfortune, got you like a sickness

and the saints, the angels all agree

trouble sure as trouble sees it

I need it in writing to believe

to believe