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Well, I left my motel room, down at the Starkville Motel, |
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The town had gone to sleep and I was feelin' fairly well. |
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I strolled along the sidewalk 'neath the sweet magnolia trees; |
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I was whistlin', pickin' flowers, swayin' in the southern breeze. |
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I found myself surrounded; one policeman said: 'That's him. |
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Come along, wild flower child. Don't you know that it's two a.m.' |
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They're bound to get you. |
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'Cause they got a curfew. |
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And you go to the Starkville City jail. |
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Well, they threw me in the car and started driving into town; |
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I said: 'What the hell did I do?' He said: 'Shut up and sit down.' |
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Well, they emptied out my pockets, took my pills and guitar picks. |
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I said: 'Wait, my name is...' 'Awe shut up.' Well, I sure was in a fix. |
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The sergeant put me in a cell, then he went home for the night; |
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I said: 'Come back here, you so and so; I ain't bein' treated right.' |
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Well, they're bound to get you, cause they got a curfew, |
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And you go to the Starkville City Jail. |
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I started pacin' back and forth, and now and then I'd yell, |
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And kick my forty dollar shoes against the steel floor of my cell. |
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I'd walk awhile and kick awhile, and all night nobody came. |
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Then I sadly remembered that they didn't even take my name. |
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At 8 a.m. they let me out. I said: 'Gimme them things of mine!' |
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They gave me a sneer and a guitar pick, and a yellow dandelion. |
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They're bound to get you, 'cause they got a curfew, |
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And you go to the Starkville City Jail. |
