On the first day I got a hold, my skin was white and young

Took a bag from my father's room, took the shirt he'd had on

I strode into the morning sun, the wind bit my face

Heading towards a chapel town and the Pearl family place

But the doors they were locked, they kept themselves inside

The next day, I came around, screaming in my head

She'd been gone for over a year, or at least that's what her mother said

I tried to piece together where she'd been and if she'd lost

Her delicate face, perfect skin, wide eyes and the family cross

Well the church door it stood open, but I had other things on my mind

My girl

Someone's going to pay for my girl

Her mother she told a story, of a fight in a bar

Apparently in my absence, well she'd spread herself afar

I could feel my flower wilting, and an ache grew inside

I aged about twenty years, and my fists grew strong and wild

And I left a bloody mess there, drove a car through the door

But then by chance I stumbled on her, Minnie Pearl on a beach

She was sat a bathed in gold, and her hair a silver bleach

The shotgun in my hand, felt about three times its size

But I thought about what I'd heard, and put the shotgun to my eye

I aimed at her St Christopher, but I saw me and smiled, and smiled, and smiled, and smiled

Well I walked a little closer, using my gun as a crook

She said 'You're not looking all that well'

I said 'It's not about the way I look

But how come my face is withered, and you, you look so fine?'

'Quite a few things have passed,' she said, putting her hand into mine
'And you, you're wearing different things, and you don't seem to mind'

But I'm still in a single bed and there's nothing left to be done

She decided she could walk away, and well me, I've been drinking some

All the years I'd planned, they slipped through my palm

I was turning grey, feeling old, she said I'd lost my charm

And how come I weep so much and there's revenge on my mind

My girl

Someone's going to pay for my girl

My girl, my girl

One the last day she came back I was there on my stool

I could barely string two words together, dealt my hand across the room

She'd found a young gypsy boy, with the air on his mind

Travelling from town to town, it suited her just fine

And her face was still delicate, still delicate, so delicate, so delicate and fine