16 Shells from a 30.6 Tom Waits

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I plugged sixteen 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
Oh, and I made me a ladder
From a pawn shop marimba
And I leaned it up
Against a dandelion tree
Leaned it up against a dandelion tree
Leaned it up against a dandelion tree

Ma, cook them feathers
On a tire iron spit
And I filled me a sachel full
Of old pig corn
And I beat me a billy
From an old French horn
Whoa, and I kicked
That mule to the top of the tree
Kicked that mule to the top of the tree
Blew me a hole
'bout the size of a kickdrum
And I cut me a switch
From a long branch elbow

I'm gonna whittle
You into kindlin''
Black crow, sixteen shells
From a thirty-ought six
Whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen 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
Oh, you got to meet me
By the knuckles
Of the skinnybone tree
With the strings
Of a Washburn stretched
Like a clothes line
Oh, you know me and
That mule scrambled right
Through the hole
Me and that mule scrambled
Right through the hole

I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells
From a thirty-ought six
Whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells
From a thirty-ought six

Now I hold him prisoner
In a Washburn jail
That I strapped 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
Oh, I strum it loud to rattle his cage
Strum it loud just to rattle his cage
Strum it loud just to rattle his cage
Strum it loud just to rattle his cage

Whoa,
I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells
From a thirty-ought six
Whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells
From a thirty-ought six




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