West through the piney woods, y'all,

From Alabama into Mississippi,

There's a leafy trail cleared out by my brothers, heads down,

Said they're all going to miss me.

You've got to walk.

You've got to walk.

From the feet of the Appalachians

Down into the deepest swamps,

You used to could do what you had to do

Now you got to do what they want.

You've got to walk.

You've got to walk.

We can take a breath, puff out our chests, act like a proud,

noble band --

In that little bit of sun before the skies turn cold.

We can sing songs about the Southland, whoop and holler

while we can,

Whistle Dixie while that long, white hand takes hold.

In a Choctaw summer, where's a red-blooded boy to go?

Jackson's name on a piece of white paper

Drove our fathers to the Plains.

Now the paper's green. It's got his face, red and mean,

Going to drive us to our graves.

You've got to walk.

You've got to walk.

We can take a breath, puff out our chests, act like a proud, noble band --

In that little bit of sun before the skies turn cold.

We can sing songs about the Southland, whoop and holler

while we can,

Whistle Dixie while that long, white hand takes hold.

In a Choctaw summer, where's a red-blooded boy to go?