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