People in this town, Lord, they ain't no friend to you Oh, they'll do you a favor, go around and tell lies about you If I only had me a brick house of my own I wouldn't allow snitchin' and gamblin' people around my home I hate a snitcher, yes and the good Lord hates the sin If they ever give me any trouble, soon be on my way to the pen If I only had me a shelter of my own I wouldn't allow snitchin' and gamblin' people around my home Now it's eighteen hundred, and it's ninety-one That's when the snitchin' work, people, Lord, had just begun Now it's eighteen hundred, and it's ninety-two The snitchers in this town, Lord, it just won't do Now it's eighteen hundred, and it's ninety-three I got arrested off of Beale Street I went 'fore the judge, I said judge, what is my fine? A hundred dollar fine, and do eleven twenty-nine Now look-a-here, judge, can't you hold up off of that fine? He said, go ahead on, boy, that ain't no great long time Oh, don't I hate a snitcher, yes and the good Lord hates the sin Now it's eighteen hundred, and it's ninety-four The white people rolled me in the workhouse door It's eighteen hundred, and it's ninety-five These people in this down don't do nothing but tell dirty lies Now it's eighteen hundred, and it's ninety-six That's when the snitchers got all-all their little snitching work fixed It's nineteen-hundred, and it's twenty-seven They snitch so bad they're trying to snitch their way into heaven It's nineteen-hundred, and it's twenty-eight I left the snitchers standing at the workhouse gate It's nineteen-hundred, and it's twenty-nine I left all the snitching people way behind Oh, don't I hate a snitcher, yes and the good Lord hates the sin