Quixanne ah'm in its grip. Quixanne ah'm in its grip. Sinken in the mud. Patron-saint of the Bog.. They cum with boots of blud. Wit pitchfawk and with club. Chantin out mah name. Got doggies strainin onna chain. Lucy ah'll love ya till the end!. They hunt me like a dog. Down in Sw-a-a-a-amp Land!. . So cum mah executioners! Cum bounty hunters!. Cum mah county killers--for ah cannot run no more. Ah cannot run no more. Ah cannot run no more. No I can't!. Lucy ya won't see this face agin. Wheb ya caught ya swing and burn.... Down in Sw-a-a-a-amp Land!. . The trees are veiled in fog. The trees are veiled in fog. Like so many jilted brides. Now they're all breakin down and cry. Cryin tears upon mah face. Cryin tears upon mah face. And they smell of gasolene. a-a-a-a-ah- scr-e-e-e-a-am. Lucy ya made a sinner out of me. Now ah'm burnin like a saint. Down in Sw-a-a-a-amp Land!. . So cum mah executioners! Cum mah bounty huntahs!. Cum mah county killers--ya know ah cannot run no more. No ah cannot run no more..