Cottonmouth

There's a snake hole dug in the Mississippi mud

Black snake swimming in the water.

This is the story that the cottonmouth told,

Told to the cotton picker's daughter.

There's a snake flows down through the middle of the land

Black snake made of water.

Then the snake skin peels and the new moon wheels,

A'dancin' with the daughters.

Down in New Orleans, stompin' down

Up in Memphis hanging 'round

Cottonmouth don't make no sound

Cottonmouth don't fool around.

Chopping cotton in the sun

Women's work is never done (oh no)

Sunday dresses, dusty shoes,

Ladies sing the gospel blues.

With their singin' shoutin' prayin'

Cryin' "Glory Hallelujah"

Life's too short for fear of dying,

When the river's high.

Down in New Orleans, stompin' down. . .

Time stands still in cotton patches,

Flannel shirts and old blue jeans.

Red winged blackbirds standing sentry

On the banks of New Orleans.

Across the dry fields, Old Man River

Rustles through the cotton rows.

Levee's broke and the water's rising

That snake just goes and goes.

Rich man, poor man, it don't matter,

When your time has come.

This old river's bound for glory

In the setting sun.

Crickets singing, bullfrogs shouting

"Glory Hallelujah!"

Young man seeds the old man's harvest,

Master's house has come undone.