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