Down in Mississippi

Lenoir



Far back’s I can remember

Either had to plow or hoe

One of those long ol’ nine feet sacks

Standin’ at the old turn row.

Down in Mississippi. Down in Mississippi.

Down in Mississippi where I was born

Down in Mississippi where I come from...

They had a huntin’ season on a rabbit

If you shoot him you went to jail.

The season was always open on me:

Nobody needed no bail.

Nothing I got ‘gainst Mississippi,

It also was the home of my wife.

But I count myself a lucky man

Just to get away with my life.