When I get off of this mountain, you know where I want to go?
Straight down the Mississippi River to the Gulf of Mexico.
To Lake Charles, Louisianna, little Bessie, a girl who I once knew.
She told me just to come on by if there's anything that she could do.
Up on Cripple Creek, she sends me.
If I spring a leak, she mends me.
I don't have to speak, she defends me.
A drunkard's dream if I ever did see one.