“The Southern Swamps”

[Intro – spoken, with a slow, crooked banjo picking underneath] Well now… If you’re headed down past the cypress line, keep your headlights low and your mouth shut tight. The Southern swamps got a memory longer than your name— and if you get turned around out there… you might not make it back. [Verse 1] Moon hangs low on a black-water bend, Spanish moss whispering, “Don’t come in.” Frog-song rising from the muddy ground, One wrong turn and you won’t be found. Mosquitoes bite like a county debt, Gator eyes glow where the sun once set. You can hear that banjo from a shack offshore— But don’t knock twice if you don’t know the door. [Chorus] Down in the Southern swamps, where the dark runs deep, Secrets lie quiet where the dead trees sleep. Don’t get lost, don’t start no fight, Don’t go stirring up trouble in the dead of night. Mind your manners, boy, and watch where you tramp— You might not make it back from the Southern swamps. [Verse 2] There’s a tin-roof house by the crooked creek, Old man sitting there with a scarred-up cheek. He’ll offer you coffee, he’ll offer you shade, But cross that line and a mistake gets made. No sheriff’s car on a backroad trail, No cell phone signal and no bail. The swamp keeps secrets beneath its green-black skin, And it don’t care where you’re from or where you’ve been. [Chorus] Down in the Southern swamps, where the dark runs deep, Secrets lie quiet where the dead trees sleep. Don’t get lost, don’t start no fight, Don’t go stirring up trouble in the dead of night. Mind your manners, boy, and watch where you tramp— You might not make it back from the Southern swamps. [Bridge – banjo and slide guitar] If the crickets stop, you better stop too, If the dogs start barking, they’re warning you. If the water goes still and the night turns cold, Turn that truck around before the story gets told. [Final Chorus] Down in the Southern swamps, where the dark runs deep, Every little secret has a price to keep. Don’t get lost, don’t piss folks off, Don’t mistake that silence for a welcome soft. Respect that mud, that moss, that camp— Or you might not make it back from the Southern swamps. [Outro – spoken, banjo fading] So if you ever hear that banjo after midnight… keep driving. And if the swamp starts calling your name— don’t answer.