West of town you'll find where hell is brown and black and green

You'll find that hell is where the water tastes like kerosene

Ol' Farmer Tate had come down south on the Chipley line

Settled in the longleaf pine, he milked the trees for some turpentine

Lost a hog to a panther that he swore he'd have to kill

Just a few weeks later his body was buried up on the hill

Tate hunted that animal down deep in the Florida trees

Those trees just turned to swamp with bugs instead of breeze

You might think hell is orange, yellow, and bright red

You might think hell is down below like the preacher said

You might think hell is just a place where Satan fell

I'm here to tell you it's west of Carrabelle

Twenty-one days later Tate came stumbling into town

His dogs in a gator's belly and the panther never found

People ran right up to him and saw him as he fell

He said, "I think my name is Tate, but I know I've come from hell"

You might think hell is orange, yellow, and bright red

You might think hell is down below like the preacher said

You might think hell is just a place where Satan fell

I'm here to tell you it's west of Carrabelle