Smells of frying catfish dirt and blood on the breeze
Arguments through thin walls
Dogs are scratching at fleas
The Devil's always cooking here
He'll feed you a piece
And you just tell him your pleasure and then he'll do the rest
Sex or dope or folly yeah he'll get you the best
No problem if it's murder or a little incest
Yes Sir
In the dirty South
In the dirty South
In the dirty South
People down and out
She just wants to leave but she is bound by her roots
Like a June bug on a string just buzzing the blues
Water from the bayou soaks on up in her shoes
And she's gotta keep on hiding
He can't find her tonight
He's liquored up on moonshine and he's hot for a fight
He took out his last honey with cottonmouth bite
Yes Sir
In the dirty South
In the dirty South
In the dirty South
People down and out
Pale as bolls of cottons he had laid there all night
Mocking birds kept asking why but he won't reply
A 22 flew straight between his eyes
And his Pa will not lament his death at 16 years old
His bag was packed he hid his tracks the farm had been sold
I heard from a little bird they paid with fool's gold
Yes Sir
In the dirty South
In the dirty South
In the dirty South
People down and out