Текст Johnny Cash – Goin’ Down The Road Feelin’ Bad

I’m going down this road feeling bad
Bad luck’s all I’ve ever had
Going down this road feeling bad, Lord, Lord
And I ain’t gonna be treated this a-way

Got me way down in jail on my knees
This old jailer he sure is hard to please
Feed me on corn, bread and peas, Lord, Lord
And I ain’t gonna be treated this a-way

Sweet mama, won’t buy me no shoes
Lord, she’s left me with these lonesome jailhouse blues
My sweet mama won’t buy me no shoes, Lord, Lord
And I ain’t gonna be treated this a-way

And these two-dollar shoes hurt my feet
The jailer won’t give me enough to eat
These two-dollar shoes they hurt my feet, Lord, Lord
And I ain’t gonna be treated this a-way

I’m going where the climate suits my clothes
Lord, I’m going where these chilly winds never blow
I’m going where the climate suits my clothes, Lord, Lord
And I ain’t gonna be treated this a-way

Yes, I’m going down the road feeling bad, Lord, Lord
Lord, I’m going down the road feeling bad
Bad luck is all I’ve ever had
And I ain’t gonna be treated this a-way