Lots of folks back East, they say, is leavin' home every day. Beatin' the hot old dusty way to the California line. 'Cross the desert sands they roll, gettin' out of that old dust bowl. They think
If you'll gather 'round me, children. A story I will tell. 'Bout pretty boy Floyd, an outlaw. Oklahoma knew him well It was in the town of Shawnee. A Saturday afternoon. His wife beside him in hi
I just blowed in, and I got them dust bowl blues,. I just blowed in, and I got them dust bowl blues,. I just blowed in, and I'll blow back out again. I guess you've heard about ev'ry kind of blues,