Where the runoff meets the coal-black sand,
And the waters of life spill forth from the belly of the land,
When that old ghost strikes up the whippoorwill choir,
Glory in your spark, and watch the river catch fire.
In the shadow of the cathedral, I watched her blue eyes spark
At the saints beaming in the windows, and singing in the park.
Through the piney curtain, across that long black lake,
The thick air that weighed her down at home here made her body sweat and
shake.
So, if you find yourself down around there,
Find a place for me and mine,
Where a rebel son can make his peace,
And the folks are good and sweet and kind:
In the Mississippi bottomland.
Mississippi, y'all.
Sure enough.
When the river folds in on itself, be ye not afraid.
For, though she wanders like a lamb and crawls like a babe,
Fret not over why she floods and how she flows.
Just keep your cheek to her waters, and your wheels on the road.
So, if you find yourself down around there,
Find a place for me and mine,
Where a rebel son can make his peace,
And the folks are good and sweet and kind:
In the Mississippi bottomland.
Mississippi, y'all.
Sure enough.