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