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(originally by Tom Waits) |
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Plugged 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six |
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And the black crow flew through |
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A hole in the sky |
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And I spent all my buttons on an old pack mule |
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And I made me a ladder ftom a pawn shop marimba |
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And I leaned it up against a dandelion tree |
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Leaned it up against a dandelion tree |
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Leaned it up against a dandelion tree |
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Well I cooked them feathers on the iron spit |
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And I filled me a sachel full of old pig corn |
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And I beat me a |
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Billy from an old french horn |
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And kicked that mule to the top of the tree |
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Kicked that mule to the top of the tree |
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Blew me a hole 'bout the size of a kickdrum |
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And I cut me a switch 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-aught-six |
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Whittle you into kindlin' |
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Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six |
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Well I slept in the hotter of a dry creek bed |
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And I tore out the buckets from a red corvette |
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Tore out the buckets from a red corvette |
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Lionel, Dave and the butcher made three |
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You got to meet me by the knuckles of the skinny bone tree |
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With the strings of a washburn |
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Stretched like a clothesline |
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You know me and that mule scrambled right through the hole |
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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 ftom a thirty-aught-six |
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Whittle you into kindlin' |
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Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six |
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Now I hold him prisoner in a washburn jail |
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And I strapped it on the back of my old kick mule |
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Strapped it on the back of my old kick mule |
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Bang on the strings just to drive him crazy |
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And I strum it toud just to rattle his cage |
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Strum it loud just to rattle his cage |
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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-aught-six |
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Whittle you into kindlin' |
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Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six |
