Lyrics:

Year-old painted pallored grey
The storm was comin' in
Folks were lining out in all directions
Me and Hoad(?) and Henry Short
Were pitchin' on the skiff
Tryin' to make it home before the night

And the grey waves were rollin'
Bold the brave brave ocean
And rolled us suckers in

Well I don't keep to goings on
I tend to stick with kin
But Watson had it in from the beginning
Built that house on Chatham Bend
Of whitewashed knotted pine
Ninety acres furrowed for the cane

He drove it down from Georgia
His dad a martyred soldier
In the war between the states

Lord bring down the flood
Wash away the blood
Drown these everglades
And put us in our place
We laid Edgar Watson in his grave
We laid him in his grave

Till I'm dust I'll never know
Why he came ashore
With all those killers
Gathered on the shoreline
Kicking holes in ugly mud
And trigger fingers pinched
A brace of rifles bristled in the wind

And we towed his body northbound
And buried him all face down
With a good view into hell

Lord bring down the flood
Wash away the blood
Drown these everglades
And put us in our place
We laid Edgar Watson in his grave
We laid him in his grave
We laid him in his grave
We laid him in his grave