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.
