by Bob Dylan

I'm goin' down south,
'Neath the borderline
I'm goin' down south,
'Neath the borderline
Some fat momma
Kissed my mouth one time

Well, I needed it this morning
Without a shadow of doubt
My suitcase is packed,
My clothes are hangin' out

San Francisco's fine,
You sure get lots of sun
San Francisco is fine
You sure get lots of sun
But I'm used to four seasons,
California's got but one

Well, I got my dark sunglasses,
I got for good luck my black tooth
I got my dark sunglasses,
And for good luck I got my black tooth
Don't ask me nothin' about nothin',
I just might tell you the truth