Oh, it s going down the road feeling bad
Bad luck s all I ve ever had
Going down the road feeling bad, Lord, Lord
And I ain t a-gonna be treated this a-way
Got me way down in jail on my knees
This old jailer he sure is hrd to please
Feed me on corn, bread and peas, Lord, Lord
And I ain t gonna be treated this a-way
Sweet mama, won t you buy me no shoes
Lord, she s left me with these lonesome jailhouse blues
My sweet mama won t buy me no shoes, Lord, Lord
And I ain t a-gonna be treated this a-way
And these two-dollar shoes they hurt my feet
The jailer won t gi me enough to eat
Lord, these two-dollar shoes they hurt my feet, Lord, Lord
And I ain t a-gonna be treated this a-way
I m going where the climate suits my clothes
Lord, I m going where these chilly winds never blow (hmmhmm)
Going where the climate suits my clothes, Lord, Lord
And I ain t a-gonna be treated this a-way
Yes, I m going down the road feeling bad, Lord, Lord
Lord, I m going down this road feeling bad
Bad luck is all I ve ever had (it sure is)
And I ain t a-gonna be treated this a-way