Wash Jones

I was talking to an oak tree

When the cypress butted in.

Out of car parts, a raven

Made a nest inside my skin.

To understand me better

You all ought to follow me home

I make a wish i clean the fish

I can scream like the cicada

Gin the seed right out of the bowl

Ride the train to memphis

When there's cotton to be sold.

To understand this better

You all ought to follow me home

Make a wish & clean the fish

That's why they call me wash jones.

I feel like driving but my car won't run

I feel like plowing but my mules won't come.

I was lost down in the bottom

I was cutting through the cane

Tied my team up to a rusty trace chain

That's why they call me wash jones.


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