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Tom: Bb
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Well, I left my motel room, down at the Starkville Motel,
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The town had gone to sleep and I was feelin' fairly well.
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I strolled along the sidewalk 'neath the sweet magnolia trees;
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I was whistlin', pickin' flowers, swayin' in the southern breeze.
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I found myself surrounded; one policeman said: "That's him.
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Come along, wild flowerchild. Don't you know that it's two a.m."
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They're bound to get you. Cause they got a curfew.
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And you go to the Starkville City jail.
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Well, they threw me in the car and started driving into town;
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I said: "What the hell did I do?" He said: "Shut up and sit down."
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Well they emptied out my pockets, took my pills and guitar picks.
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I said: "Wait, my name is..." "Aw shut up." Well I sure was in a fix.
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The sergeant put me in a cell, then he went home for the night;
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I said: "Come back here, you so and so; I ain't bein' treated right."
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Well they're bound to get you, cause they got a curfew,
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And you go to the Starkville City Jail.
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I started pacin' back and forth, and now and then I'd yell,
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And kick my forty dollar shoes against the steel floor of my cell.
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I'd walk awhile and kick awhile, and all night nobody came.
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Then I sadly remembered that they didn't even take my name.
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At 8 a.m. they let me out. I said: "Gimme them things of mine!"
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They gave me a sneer and a guitar pick, and a yellow dandelion.
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They're bound to get you, cause they got a curfew,
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And you go to the Starkville City Jail.