West of town you'll find where hell is brown and black and green
You'll find that hell is where the water tastes like kerosene
Ol' Farmer Tate had come down south on the Chipley line
Settled in the longleaf pine, he milked the trees for some turpentine
Lost a hog to a panther that he swore he'd have to kill
Just a few weeks later his body was buried up on the hill
Tate hunted that animal down deep in the Florida trees
Those trees just turned to swamp with bugs instead of breeze
You might think hell is orange, yellow, and bright red
You might think hell is down below like the preacher said
You might think hell is just a place where Satan fell
I'm here to tell you it's west of Carrabelle
Twenty-one days later Tate came stumbling into town
His dogs in a gator's belly and the panther never found
People ran right up to him and saw him as he fell
He said, "I think my name is Tate, but I know I've come from hell"
You might think hell is orange, yellow, and bright red
You might think hell is down below like the preacher said
You might think hell is just a place where Satan fell
I'm here to tell you it's west of Carrabelle