Down wind from Pigtown, wrecks in the yard
Scream at the sun "Just finish the job!"
Telephone poles slowly weep in their pitch
The butcher's brown sweat runs back down the ditch
A great place to visit, a better place to leave
False poison sumac, lies on the eave
Weather vanes speed up over the motoring of shutters
The Pigtown blues run deep down the gutters
The skies are heavy, hey bro?
Block after block after block
Out across the marsh trees, harshly accuse
Pointing black fingers most broke with abuse
High-tension wires, lurch in degrees
Men have their conscience, while dogs have their fleas
Cyclops winks as he sinks to the soil
Labor in vain, labor and toil
The residents succumb to the shadows and sticks
The Pigtown blues run right through the bricks
The skies are heavy, hey bro?
Block after block after block
The skies are heavy, hey bro?
Block after block after block
The skies are heavy, hey bro?
Block after block after block
The skies are heavy, hey bro?
Block after block after block