I’m going down the road feeling bad
Bad luck’s all I’ve ever had
Going down the road feeling bad, Lord, Lord
Ain’t gonna be treated this a-way
Got me way down in jail on my knees
This old jailer, he sure is hard to please
Feed me on cornbread and peas, Lord, Lord
Ain’t gonna be treated this a-way
Sweet mama, she won’t buy me no shoes
Lord, she’s left me with those lonesome jailhouse blues
My sweet mama she won’t buy me no shoes, Lord, Lord
Ain’t gonna be treated this a-way
And these two-dollar shoes they hurt my feet
The jailer won’t give me enough to eat
These two dollar shoes they hurt my feet, Lord, Lord
Ain’t gonna be treated this a-way
I’m going where the climate suits my clothes
Lord, I’m going where those chilly winds never blows
I’m going where the climate suits my clothes, Lord, Lord
Ain’t gonna be treated this a-way
Yes, I’m going down the road feeling bad
Bad luck’s all I’ve ever had
Going down the road feeling bad, Lord, Lord
Ain’t gonna be treated this a-way