I plugged 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six
And the Black Crow snuck through
hole in the sky
So I spent all my buttons on an
Old pack mule
And I made me a ladder from
pawn shop marimba
And I leaned it up against
dandelion tree

I'm gonna cook them feathers
On a tire iron spit
And I filled me a satchel
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 [bad word] 
And I cut me a switch from a
Long branch elbow

 [bad word] 
I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black Crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six
Whittle you into kindlin'
Black Crow, sixteen 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
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

 [bad word] 

Now I hold him prisoner
In a Washburn jail
That I strapped on the back of my old kick mule
I bang on the strings just
To drive him crazy
I [bad word] it loud just to rattle his cage
 [bad word] it loud just to rattle his cage

 [bad word]