Well gather 'round folks, for the tale of a man He's a-pickin' his six string 'till there's blood on his hands And he's a puffin' on reefer, it's all there's to do He'll a smoke 'till his lungs are turned blackened and blue Well, he'll smoke 'till his lungs are turned blackened and blue Now, the man's got the world sat on his troubled mind And he knows that it's only a matter of time 'Fore he's faced with a choice on what he is to do And he'll a smoke 'till his lungs are turned blackened and blue Well, he'll smoke 'till his lungs are turned blackened and blue Now it's time for our story to come to a close The man stays a-pickin', for it's what he does most 'Fore aside from the pickin' there's nothing to do Except smoke till his lungs are turned blackened and blue Well, he'll smoke till his lungs are turned blackened and blue