Little Amsterdam
In a southern town
Hominy get it on the plate, girl
Momma, keep your head down
Momma, it wasn't my bullet
Don't take me back to the Range
Back to the Range
I'm just coming out of the cell in my brain
Don't take me back to the Range
Back to the Range
'Cause, girl, you've got to know these days
Which side you're on
Momma got shit
She loved a brown man
Then she built a bridge in the Sheriff's bed
She'd do anything to save her man
You see her olives
They are cold pressed
And her best friend is a sun dress
But Momma, it wasn't my bullet
Don't take me back to the Range
Back to the Range
I'm just coming out of the cell in my brain
Don't take me back to the Range
Back to the Range
'Cause, girl, you've got to know these days
All alone, got a girl in the city
Hey, got a room and a place for two
Got a goat and a phone, I said:
"Boy, you are my Fifth Avenue."
Round and around and around I go
Round and around, this time for keeps
(Say a word to the hangman for me, my baby)
Round and around and around I go
Round and around, this time for keeps
(Say a word to the hangman for me, me and my babe)
Father, only you can save my soul
And playing that organ must count for something, something
Girl, you've got to know these days
Little Amsterdam
Shut down today
They buried her with a butter bean bouquet
And the Sheriff now can't ride away
Like he said into the sunset
And I won't say that he shouldn't have paid
But Momma, it wasn't my bullet
