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

And I filled me a sachel
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 kick drum
And I cut me a switch
From a long branch elbow

I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six
Whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow 16 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 a 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

I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six
Whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six

Now I hold him prisoner
In a washburn jail
That stapped on the back
Of my old kick mule
Strapped it on the back of my old kick mule
I bang on the strings just
To drive him crazy
I strum it loud just to rattle his cage
Strum it loud just to rattle his cage

I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six
Whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six

Copyright: Capitol CMG Publishing, JALMA MUSIC
Writer(s): Thomas A. Waits