Lyrics
[Intro]
The devil’s a liar, slick tongue in the dust,
I’m done with his croonin’, his charm’s gone bust.
[Verse 1]
You silver-tongued serpent, with your fiddler’s tune,
Spinnin’ tall tales ‘neath a bloodshot moon.
You strut through the ages, all swagger and sin,
But I’m loadin’ my Bible, gonna blast through your grin.
No sympathy for ya, you son of a bitch,
Your rebel’s allure’s just a rattlesnake’s hitch.
God’s truth is my Colt, it’s locked and it’s loaded,
Your lies’ll get burned where the brimstone’s exploded.
[Chorus 1]
No sympathy for ya, you’re out of your reign,
I’m spittin’ on your fire, let it drown in the rain.
Your honky-tonk hustle don’t sway me no more,
I’m ridin’ for Jesus, gonna even the score.
Saddle up, Satan, your time’s runnin’ thin,
God’s posse is comin’ to rope your sin.
No sympathy for ya, you’re damned to the pit,
Get gone, old snake, ‘fore your soul’s gettin’ lit.
[Verse 2]
You whispered to Judas, you danced at the fall,
You twisted the truth till it poisoned us all.
Your Rolling Stone ditty, it don’t hold no sway,
I’m kickin’ your jukebox to Hell’s judgment day.
Keep off my kin, you cursed fool, or I’ll slay,
With God’s own Word, I’ll drive your lies away.
My spurs are my faith, and they’re sharp as a blade,
I’ll carve through your shadows where salvation’s delayed.
[Chorus 2]
No sympathy for ya, your game’s played out,
I’m callin’ your bluff with a righteous shout.
Your snake oil promises, your glitter and lies,
Will choke on the wrath in the Almighty’s eyes.
Fall to the dust, His justice takes aim,
You’ll fry in the furnace with your crown of shame.
No sympathy for ya, your legend’s a bust,
You’re just a dead drifter in a trail of dust.
[Bridge]
The canyon’s a-growlin’, the heavens are near,
The hoofbeats of judgment are all you should fear.
No tears for your story, no hat tipped your way,
Your carnival’s closin’ on God’s reckonin’ day.
No mercy for you, your rebellion’s your chain,
God’s wrath is your sentence, eternal your pain.
The cross saves the sinner, but you’re cast aside,
Condemned to the fire where the damned can't hide.
[Chorus 3]
No sympathy for ya, your star’s gonna fade,
God’s light’ll unravel the tricks that you’ve played.
Your dancin’ days done, your rebellion’s a curse,
I’m singin’ for glory, not your tired verse.
We'll cling to the Savior, His grace sets us free,
While you rot in shadows with the damned’s decree.
No sympathy for ya, the end’s closin’ in,
You’re bound for the pit where the lost pay for sin.
[Outro]
The saloon’s gone silent, your song’s out of tune,
The sky’s turnin’ crimson, it’s high noon.
No plea for your case, no soft-hearted wail,
You’re doomed to the fire where the outlaws all flail.
The Savior’s my shelter, His Word’s my defense,
Your lies ain’t worth spit in His holy presence.
No sympathy for ya, your fate’s carved in stone,
Burn forever, old snake, to Hell you’ll be shown.
Song Meaning
No Sympathy!
For fifty years the most famous song ever written about the devil has been a polite request. Sympathy for the Devil asks you to guess his name, grant him courtesy, and admire the résumé — the fall, the crucifixion, the wars — as if damage on that scale earns a man a hearing. Millions of people have sung along with that request without once noticing they were agreeing to it.
This song declines. It is a Western outlaw ballad with an Irish folk stomp under it, and it is built as a refusal from the first line: the devil is not a tragic aristocrat, he is a con man in the dust with a fiddler's tune and a rattlesnake's charm. Where the Stones' devil is granted glamour, this one is a dead drifter in a trail of dust. Where he is granted sympathy, this one gets a jukebox kicked to judgment day. The song even names the source out loud — your Rolling Stone ditty, it don't hold no sway — because a rebuke works better when it says who it's rebuking.
Theologically it holds a hard line that most Christian music won't touch. There is no redemption arc here, and there isn't supposed to be one. Scripture gives the devil a sentence, not an altar call — the lake of fire in Revelation 20, the chains of darkness in 2 Peter and Jude, the fire prepared for the devil and his angels in Matthew 25. So the bridge draws the sharpest line in the song: the cross saves the sinner, but you're cast aside. Grace is real, enormous, and free, and it is not for him. Every listener stands on one side of that line or the other, and the song makes you notice which.
The weapon is the Word. God's truth is my Colt, it's locked and it's loaded is Ephesians 6 in a gun belt — the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God — and it's the only offensive weapon in the whole armor. That's why the resistance in this song is never a fair fight and never a nervous one. The man singing isn't wrestling the devil for the win. He's announcing a verdict that was handed down at the cross and reading it to the condemned.
And it is a household song. Keep off my kin, you cursed fool is the center of it — the moment the swagger stops being swagger and becomes a father in a doorway. That's the reason for the drawl, the spurs, the growl, the profanity in verse one. This is not a hymn sung in a pew with hands folded. It's what a man says standing between his family and something that wants them, and men in that position have never once said it gently.
Musically it's gunslinger swagger married to a pub reel — the outlaw ballad's slow menace in the verses, the jig's stomp driving the choruses, a bass-baritone spitting the lines with open contempt. It builds to a high-noon outro under a crimson sky, saloon gone silent, the devil's song finally out of tune.
For anyone who's ever sung along to a song about the devil and felt something turn over in their gut afterward. For men who are tired of being told the only Christian posture is a soft one. For anyone who wants the old snake told exactly what he is, in a voice he'd recognize.
No sympathy for ya. Your fate's carved in stone.