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Quixanne, ah'm in it's grip |
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Quixanne, ah'm in it's grip |
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Sinken in the mud |
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Patron-saint of the bog. |
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They cum with boots of blud |
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Wit pitchfawk and with club |
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Chantin out mah name |
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Got doggies strainin onna chain |
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Lucy, ah'll love ya till the end! |
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They hunt me like a dog |
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Down in sw-a-a-a-amp land! |
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So cum mah executioners! cum bounty hunters! |
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Cum mah county killers--for ah cannot run no more |
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Ah cannot run no more |
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Ah cannot run no more |
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No I can't! |
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Lucy, ya won't see this face agin |
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Wheb ya caught ya swing and burn... |
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Down in sw-a-a-a-amp land! |
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The trees are veiled in fog |
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The trees are veiled in fog |
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Like so many jilted brides |
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Now they're all breakin down and cry |
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Cryin tears upon mah face |
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Cryin tears upon mah face |
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And they smell of gasolene |
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A-a-a-a-ah- scr-e-e-e-a-am |
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Lucy, ya made a sinner out of me |
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Now ah'm burnin like a saint |
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Down in sw-a-a-a-amp land! |
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So cum mah executioners! cum mah bounty huntahs! |
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Cum mah county killers--ya know ah cannot run no more |
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No ah cannot run no more. |
