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I plugged 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six |
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and a Black Crow snuck through |
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a hole in the sky |
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so I spent all my buttons on an |
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old pack mule |
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and I made me a ladder from |
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a pawn shop marimba |
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and I leaned it up against |
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a dandelion tree |
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And I filled me a sachel |
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full of old pig corn |
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and I beat me a billy |
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from an old French horn |
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and I kicked that mule |
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to the top of the tree |
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and I blew me a hole |
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'bout the size of a kickdrum |
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and I cut me a switch |
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from a long branch elbow |
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I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin' |
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Black Crow 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six |
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whittle you into kindlin' |
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Black Crow 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six |
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Well I slept in the holler |
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of a dry creek bed |
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and I tore out the buckets |
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from a red Corvette, tore out the buckets from a red Corvette |
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Lionel and Dave and the Butcher made three |
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you got to meet me by the knuckles of the skinnybone tree |
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with the strings of a Washburn |
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stretched like a clothes line |
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you know me and that mule scrambled right through the hole |
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I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin' |
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Black Crow 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six |
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whittle you into kindlin' |
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Black Crow 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six |
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Now I hold him prisoner |
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in a Washburn jail |
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that stapped on the back |
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of my old kick mule |
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strapped it on the back of my old kick mule |
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I bang on the strings just |
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to drive him crazy |
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I strum it loud just to rattle his cage |
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strum it loud just to rattle his cage |
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I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin' |
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Black Crow 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six |
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whittle you into kindlin' |
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Black Crow 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six |
