Gone Gone Blues

I'm going down to Louisiana

I'm going to carry me a pistol and a frying pan

Yes I am

I'm going down to Louisiana

I'm going to carry me a pistol and a frying pan

I'm going to cook me up a mess of catfish

Shoot that lawyer that stole my land

Well, I got busted in Biloxi

I spent two nights in the county jail

Yeah, I got busted in Biloxi

I spent two nights in the county jail

Sleeping on that cold hard concrete

My so-called friends wouldn't pull my bail

When I get to Mississippi

All you hustlers better run

When I get down to Mississippi

You hot-shot hustlers better run

'Cause I'm going to stop in Indianola

I'm going to put a bullet in my gun

I got them gone, gone, gone, gone

Hurting on the outside, crying on the inside blues

I got them gone, gone, gone, gone

Hurting on the outside, crying on the inside blues

From my silver belly Stetson

To the soles of my Lucchese snakeskin boots

From my silver belly Stetson

To the soles of my Lucchese snakeskin boots