| F# | | Every time I go downtown, |
|
| C#7 | | Somebody kicks my | dog around. |
|
| F# | | Makes no difference if he's a hound, |
|
| C#7 | F# | | You gotta quit kicking my | dog aro | und. |
|
|
|
Me and Lem Briggs and old Bill Brown |
|
|
Took a load of corn to town. |
|
|
Old Jim Dog the ornery old cuss, |
|
|
He just naturally follered us. |
|
|
|
As we drift past John's the store, |
|
|
A passle of yaps come out the door. |
|
|
Jim he scooted behind a box, |
|
|
With all them fellers a-throwin' rocks. |
|
|
|
They tied a can to old Jim's tail, |
|
|
And run him past the county jail. |
|
|
That just naturally made us sore, |
|
|
Lem he cussed and Bill he swore. |
|
|
|
Me and Lem Briggs and old Bill Brown |
|
|
Lost no time a gettin' down, |
|
|
Rubbed them fellers on the ground |
|
|
For kicking my old Jim Dog around. |
|
|
|
Jim seen his duty there and then, |
|
|
He lit into them gentlemen. |
|
|
He shure mussed up the courthouse square, |
|
|
With rags and meat and hide and hair. |
|
|
|
Every time I go downtown, |
|
|
Somebody kicks my dog around. |
|
|
Makes no difference if he's a hound, |
|
|
You gotta quit kicking my dog around. |
|
Home
