16 Shells From A Thirty-Ought Six

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