I was talking to an oak tree When the cypress butted in. Out of car parts, a raven Made a nest inside my skin. To understand me better You all ought to follow me home I make a wish I clean the fish I can scream like the cicada Gin the seed right out of the bowl Ride the train to memphis When there's cotton to be sold. To understand this better You all ought to follow me home Make a wish & clean the fish That's why they call me wash jones. I feel like driving but my car won't run I feel like plowing but my mules won't come. I was lost down in the bottom I was cutting through the cane Tied my team up to a rusty trace chain That's why they call me wash jones.
Printer Friendly Version
