Your Southern Can Is Mine
From Stripespedia
Contents |
Releases
- De Stijl (2000)
- Under Moorhead Lights All Fargo Night (2011)
Other Appearances
Credits
Performers
- Jack White: acoustic guitar, lead vocals
- Meg White: tambourine, box, backing vocals
- Blind Willie McTell
Production
- Originally written and recorded by Blind Willie McTell (as "Southern Can Mama").
- Arranged by Jack White and Meg White.
- Produced by Jack White
- Mixed by Jim Diamond and Jack White at Ghetto Recorders
- Recorded by Jack White at Third Man Studios, [Detroit]], at the turn of the century.
Meaning
Band Quotes
Trivia
Lyrics
Now, lookie here, mama, let me explain you this. If you wanna get crooked, I'll even give you my fist. You might read from Revelation back to Genesis; you keep forgettin' your southern can belongs to me. So there ain't no use in bringin' no jive to me -- your southern can is mine in the mornin'; your southern can belongs to me. You might go uptown, have me arrested, put in jail. Some hotshot get money, gonna pull my bail. Soon as I get out, hit the ground, your southern can is worth a thousand, half a pound. So there ain't no use in bringin' no jive to me -- your southern can is mine (talkin' about it); your southern can belongs to me. You might take it from the south, baby, hide it up north. Understand you can't rule me and be my boss. Take it from the east and hide it in the west, but when I get you, mama, your can'll see no rest. So there ain't no use in bringin' no jive to me -- your southern can is mine (I'm screamin'); your southern can belongs to me. Now, baby, ashes to ashes, sand to sand. When I hit ya, mama, then you feel my hand. Give you a punch through that barbed-wire fence -- when it hit ya, baby, y'know I make no sense. So there ain't no use in bringin' no jive to me -- your southern can is mine (I know it); your southern can belongs to me. Now look here, woman, don't get hot. I'm gettin' me a brick outta my backyard, so there ain't no use in bringin' no jive to me -- your southern can is mine (I'm talkin' about it); your southern can belongs to me. Well, if I catch you, mama, down in the heart of town, I'm gonna grab me a brick and tear your can on down, so there ain't no use in bringin' no jive to me -- your southern can is mine (I know it); your southern can belongs to me. You maybe get bedsick, 'cause you're graveyard bound. I'm gonna make you moan like a graveyard hound, so there ain't no use in bringin' no jive to me -- your southern can is mine (I'm screamin'); your southern can belongs to me.
