The Mafia Stole My Guitar

The mafia stole my guitar
Aha aha
The old time Telecaster
Aha aha
Down Florida way where they swing all day
The sun beats down on Miami Town
Collecting the dues
For singing the blues
The syndicate man’s on the wire
Aha aha
He says he got a system on hire
Aha aha
In the old Cuba woods they was selling my goods
Growing the vine drinking the wine
Walking the tracks from the old outback
The enginners turning the screws
Aha aha
He thinks he’s got nothing to lose
Aha aha
But it’s gotta be done on the Indian run
Saying goodbye I dont wanna cry
If the good lord was willing and the creek’s not dry
Oh God father, why hast thou forsaken me?
Oh God father, why hast thou forsaken me?