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von Bob Weir

There's fog up on the mountain
Frost is clinging to the ground
Days keep getting shorter
You know, the winter's coming 'round
This sure ain't the promised land
And I ain't hanging 'round
I'm packin' up my traveling bag
And checking out of town

Put me on that Delta Line
Little Egypt to the sea
And find me some fine southern girl
To keep me company
Churning down the river
Magnolia on the breeze
And I'll embrace my bayou belle
Gentle as you please

Been gone too long my honey
Now I'm going home
Where I should be

Whistle blow for Vicksburg
Not too far to go
I'm taking off these northern boots
And settin' free my toes
'Gators on the muddy shore
Smile as if to say
Welcome back to Louisiana, boy
Hope you're home to stay

Been gone too long my honey
Now I'm goin' home
Where I should be

(shoot, shoot, yeah)
Hey mama, dust my room now
(shoot, shoot, yeah)
Plump up the comforter on my bed
(shoot, shoot, yeah)
Well I say now, slay the fasted food now
(shoot, shoot, yeah)
And tell me everything the neighbor said
(shoot, shoot, yeah)
I'm going to swallow my pride
(shoot, shoot, yeah)
And pick it up and pack it in
(shoot, shoot, yeah)
Well, I'm going back to that southern pride
(shoot, shoot, yeah)
And down back the bourbon, and give up gin
(shoot, shoot, yeah)
And I see it on the back of my hand
(shoot, shoot, yeah)
And I'll say goodbye to frigidaire
(shoot, shoot, yeah)
And I'll say see you later to [?]
(shoot, shoot, yeah)
Don't recommend a thing I learned
(shoot, shoot, yeah)
Well I'm going home to the stars and bars
(shoot, shoot, yeah)
Well this great old city just looks like Mars