King Cotton Blues

Lyrics: Robert Hunter
Music: Malcolm Welbourne (Papa Mali), Bill Kreutzmann, Matt Hubbard

A new Hunter song played by Papa Mali with Bill Kreutzmann and 7 Walkers.

Got the King Cotton Blues, that I can't deny
Always been in trouble, boys, never did know why
Some say it's my attitude, others say my luck
Those who say my just deserts can take a flying fuck

Got the King Cotton Blues, right down to the core
I can take a licking boys, stand up and ask for more
It ain't 'cause of courage, on account of being brave
I never saw much reason to avoid an early grave

King Cotton blues, boys, be it understood
Shotgun is too merciful, hanging is too good
Drowning's too uncertain, poison is too slow
To snuff a worthless widow'sson whose time has come to go

Got the King Cotton Blues, reason to complain
All the local prostitutes spit upon my name
I take out my hankerchief, and dust that shit away
Revenge don't bring relief, boys, no matter what they say

Got the King Cotton Blues, price upon my head
A thousand bucks alive, and double if I'm dead
They don't want to have to feed me, they know my appetite
Let's head down to the bar, boys, and pick another fight

King Cotton Blues, boys, be it understood
Shotgun is too merciful, hanging is too good
Drowning's too uncertain, poison is too slow
To snuff a worthless widow's son whose time has come to go

Got the King Cotton Blues, when shit hits the fan
No shame to duck, boys, any chance you can
Take your absolution at the whorehouse down the block
Those who disavow you can wind the devil's clock

Got the King Cotton Blues, every dog knows the tune
Every cat has a version, beneath a bright full moon
Take your revolution, and stick it upper class
Be kind to one another, and dip your lights when you pass

King Cotton Blues, boys, be it understood
Shotgun is too merciful, hanging is too good
Drowning's too uncertain, poison is too slow
To snuff a worthless widow's son whose time has come to go

Got the King Cotton Blues, that's all I got to say
They done locked up the keys, and threw the house away
I'll just bide my time until they pop my red balloon
Feed me to the tigers, throw my leg across the room

King Cotton Blues, boys, be it understood
Shotgun is too merciful, hanging is too good
Drowning's too uncertain, poison is too slow
To snuff a worthless widow's son whose time has come to go