Well, I pulled on trouble's braids
And I hid in the briars out by the quickmud
Staying away from the main roads
Passing out wolf tickets, downwind from the bloodhounds

And I pulled on trouble's braids
And I lay by a cypress, as quiet as a stone, 'til the bleeding stopped
And I blew the weathervane off some old roadhouse
And I built a fire in the skeleton back seat of an old Tucker

And I pulled on trouble's braids
And I spanked cold red mud where the hornet stung deep
And I tossed in the ditch in a restless sleep
And I pulled on trouble's braids

I hung my rain-soaked jacket on some old barbed wire
Poured cold rusty water on a miserable fire
And I pulled on trouble's braids

And the creek was swollen by daybreak
And I could just barely see
And I floated downstream on an old dead tree

And I pulled on trouble's braids
I pulled on trouble's braids
I pulled on trouble's braids

See also:
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