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Lord his Daddy was an honest man, just a red dirt Georgia farmer |
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And his momma lived her short life having kids and baling hay |
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He had fifteen years and he ached inside to wander |
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So he jumped a freight at Waycross and wound up in LA. |
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The cold nights had no pity on that Waycross, Georgia farm boy |
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Most days he went hungry, and then the summer came |
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He met a girl known on the strip as San Francisco's Mabel Joy |
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Destitution's child, born of an LA. street called "Shame" |
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Growing up came quietly in the arms of Mabel Joy |
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Laughter found their mornings brought a meaning to his life |
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And the night before she left sleep came and left thatWaycross, country boy |
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With dreams of Georgia cotton and a California wife |
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Sunday morning found him standing 'neath the red light at her door |
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When a right cross sent him reeling, put him face down on the floor |
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And in place of his Mabel Joy he found a merchant mad marine |
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Who growled, "Your Georgia neck is red but Sonny you're still green" |
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He turned twenty-one in a grey rock federal prison |
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The old judge had no mercy on that Waycross, Georgia boy |
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Staring at those four grey walls, in silence he would listen |
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To the midnight freight he knew would take him back to Mabel Joy |
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Sunday morning found him lying 'neath the red light at her door |
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With a bullet in his side, he cried "Have you seen Mabel Joy!" |
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Stunned and shaken someone said "Son, she don't live here no more |
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She left this house four years today, they say she's looking for ... |
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Some Georgia farm boy |
