| Come all you good time people |
| While I’ve got money to spend |
| For tomorrow might be Monday |
| And I’ll neither have a dollar nor a friend |
| When I’ve got plenty of money, good people |
| Then my friends are all standing around |
| But as soon as my pocketbook is empty |
| Not a friend on this Earth can be found |
| Well, the last time I seen my little woman, good people |
| She had a wine glass in her hand |
| She’s a drinkin' down her troubles |
| With a low-down, sorry man |
| All around this old jailhouse this evening, good people |
| Forty dollars won’t pay my fine |
| Corn whiskey has surrounded my body, poor boy |
| Pretty women’s a-troublin' my mind |
| My daddy told me a-plenty, good people |
| And my mama she told me more |
| Said, «Son, if you don’t quit your rowdy ways» |
| «You'll have trouble at your door» |
| Well, if I’d a-listened to my mama, good people |
| Then I would not have been here today |
| But a-drinkin' and a-shootin' and a-gamblin' |
| At home I cannot stay |
| Give me cornbread when I’m hungry, good people |
| Corn whiskey when I’m dry |
| Pretty women a-standing around me |
| Sweet Heaven when I die |
| Go dig a hole in the meadow, good people |
| Dig it deep in that cold, cold ground |
| Come and gather round, all you kind friends |
| And see this poor rounder go down |
| And when I’m dead and buried |
| With my pale face turned to the sun |
| Will you stand around and moan, little woman? |
| And think of the way you have done |