I rode that skiff through the cattail maze,
Diesel breathin' like a backwoods blaze.
Cicadas chantin' like a funeral crowd,
The kind of night makes the devil proud.
I lit a smoke with a preacher's calm,
Said, "It ain't murder — it's keepin' the psalm."
Bury the body where the gators feed.
(Where the gators feed)
The swamp'll cover what you need.
(Cover what you need)
In mud and reeds, secrets don't bleed.
(Secrets don't bleed)
Just one more ghost in the delta weeds.
(In the delta weeds)
He ain't talkin', and neither are we.
(Neither are we)
Just leave him down by the cypress tree.
(By the cypress tree)
Met him behind the crawfish stand,
(ooh ooh)
Flash of chrome in a shaky hand.
(ooh ooh)
"You're steppin' on saints who rule this trade,"
Then drew the line that the law never made.
(Drew the line that the law never made)
A shot rang out through the bayou gloom,
Then silence settled like a well-dug tomb.
(Like a well-dug tomb)
I dragged him down where the water runs black,
Laid three stones and never looked back.
Spoke his name so the swamp would know,
"Let the bayou judge what the law don't know."
(Let the bayou judge what the law don't know)
Poured a shot for the ghosts unseen,
Swamp stayed still, or so it seems.
Bury the body where the gators feed.
(Where the gators feed)
The swamp'll cover what you need.
(Cover what you need)
In mud and reeds, secrets don't bleed.
(Secrets don't bleed)
Just one more ghost in the delta weeds.
(In the delta weeds)
He ain't talkin', and neither are we.
(Neither are we)
Just leave him down by the cypress tree.
(By the cypress tree)
Backroom cash under bug-zap light,
Heat's gone cold, in the warm midnight.
Roscoe eyes me from the darkened booth,
Deals don't die when you bury the truth.
I drink alone, never turn around —
Ghosts stay silent, never a sound.
A slow boat drifts where the water don't shine,
Justice turns on its own design.
No name, no stone, no coming clean —
Just southern justice and a bayou dream.