16 Shells From a Thirty-Ought-Six
Tom Waits Lyrics


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Plugged sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six
And the Black Crow snuck through a hole in the sky
So I spent all my buttons on an old pack mule
And I made me a ladder from a pawnshop marimba
And I leaned up against a dandelion tree
Leaned up against a dandelion tree
Leaned up against a dandelion tree
I'm gonna cook them feathers on a tiny spit
And I filled me a sachel full of old pig corn
And I beat me a billy from an old French horn
And I kicked that mule to the top of the tree
Kicked that mule to the top of the tree
Blew me a hole 'bout the size of a kickdrum
And I cut me a switch from a long branch elbow

I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black Crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six
Whittle you into kindlin'
Black Crow sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six

Well, I slept in the holler of a dry creek bed
And I tore out the buckets from a red Corvette
Tore out the buckets from a red Corvette
Lionel and Dave and the Butcher made three
Well, you got to meet me by the knuckles of the skinnybone tree
With the strings of a Washburn stretched like a clothesline
Oh, you know me and that mule scrambled right through the hole
Me and that mule scrambled right through the hole

I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black Crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six
Whittle you into kindlin'
Black Crow sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six

Now I hold him prisoner in a Washburn jail
That I strapped on the back of my old kick mule
Strapped him on the back of my old kick mule
Bang on the strings just to drive him crazy
Oh, I strum it loud to rattle his cage
Strum it loud just to rattle his cage
Strum it loud just to rattle his cage
Strum it loud just to rattle his cage

Oh, I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black Crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six




Whittle you into kindlin'
Black Crow sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six

Overall Meaning

"16 Shells from a 30.6" is a Tom Waits blues rock song that tells a surrealistic story of a hunter pursuing a Black Crow with a thirty-ought-six rifle. The song is highly metaphorical, and its lyrics have multiple interpretations. The first stanza describes the singer's preparation for hunting the crow. He has used all his resources to make a ladder, cooked pig corn, and fashioned a whip from an old French horn. The next stanza is about climbing to the top of a tree where he intends to shoot the crow. In the third stanza, he makes a Washburn guitar by using a car as its body, and he uses it to lure and trap the crow. The last part of the song talks about the singer tormenting the crow with the guitar, strumming it loudly to rattle its cage.


The song's meaning is highly debated, but most interpretations talk about social commentary on human's relationship with nature, power dynamics, and redemption. The Black Crow can be seen as a metaphor for nature, which humans try to conquer and control, using their tools and technology. The singer's obsession with the crow and trying to break its spirit reflects the human desire for power and dominance over other beings. However, in the end, the singer's actions do not bring him satisfaction, and he continues to torment the crow to feel alive. Many suggest that the song might also symbolize a deep psychological struggle of the human consciousness.


Line by Line Meaning

Plugged sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six
I fired sixteen rounds of ammunition from a thirty-ought-six rifle


And the Black Crow snuck through a hole in the sky
The Black Crow flew away quickly and quietly


So I spent all my buttons on an old pack mule
I used all my money on purchasing an old pack mule


And I made me a ladder from a pawnshop marimba
I improvised and made a ladder using a marimba instrument that I bought from a pawnshop


And I leaned up against a dandelion tree
I rested my back against a dandelion tree


I'm gonna cook them feathers on a tiny spit
I plan to roast the bird's feathers on a small fire


And I filled me a sachel full of old pig corn
I took a sack and filled it with old corn meant for pigs


And I beat me a billy from an old French horn
I made a club using an old French horn


And I kicked that mule to the top of the tree
I kicked the mule and made it climb to the top of the tree


Blew me a hole 'bout the size of a kickdrum
I created a hole about the size of a kick drum


And I cut me a switch from a long branch elbow
I cut a switch from a long and curved tree branch


I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
I am going to break you down into small pieces of kindling


Black Crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six
I shot at the black crow using sixteen rounds of ammunition from my thirty-ought-six rifle


Well, I slept in the holler of a dry creek bed
I slept in the low area of a dry creek bed


And I tore out the buckets from a red Corvette
I removed the seats from a red Corvette car


Lionel and Dave and the Butcher made three
Three people including Lionel, Dave, and the Butcher were involved


Well, you got to meet me by the knuckles of the skinnybone tree
We need to meet at the joint parts of the skinny and bony tree branches


With the strings of a Washburn stretched like a clothesline
The Washburn guitar strings are stretched tightly like a clothesline


Oh, you know me and that mule scrambled right through the hole
Me and the mule quickly crawled through the hole


Now I hold him prisoner in a Washburn jail
I have imprisoned the black crow inside a Washburn guitar


That I strapped on the back of my old kick mule
I strapped the guitar, with the black crow, on the back of my old mule


Bang on the strings just to drive him crazy
I bang on the guitar strings with the intention of driving the black crow insane


Oh, I strum it loud to rattle his cage
I strum the guitar strings loudly to agitate the black crow inside


Oh, I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
I am going to break you down into small pieces of kindling


Black Crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six
I shot at the black crow using sixteen rounds of ammunition from my thirty-ought-six rifle




Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, JALMA MUSIC, Capitol CMG Publishing
Written by: Thomas A. Waits

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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Most interesting comment from YouTube:

@sleepytwink4

I plugged sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six
And the black crow snuck through a hole in the sky
So I spent all my buttons on an old pack mule
Oh, and I made me a ladder from a pawn shop marimba
I leaned it up against a dandelion tree
Leaned it up against a dandelion tree
Leaned it up against a dandelion tree

I'm gonna cook them feathers on a tire iron spit
And I filled me a satchel full of old pig corn
And I beat me a billy from an old French horn
Oh, and I kicked that mule to the top of the tree
Kicked that mule to the top of the tree
And I blew me a hole about the size of a kick drum
I cut me a switch from a long branch elbow

I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six
Whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six

Well, I slept in the holler of a dry creek bed
And I tore out the bucket from a red Corvette
Tore out the bucket from a red Corvette
Lionel and Dave and the Butcher made three
Oh, you got to meet me by the knuckles of the skinnybone tree
With the strings of a Washburn stretched like a clothesline
Oh, you know me and that mule scrambled right through the hole
Me and that mule scrambled right through the hole
I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six
Whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six

Now I hold him prisoner in a Washburn jail
That I strapped on the back of my old kick mule
Strapped it on the back of my old kick mule
Bang on the strings just to drive him crazy
Oh, I strum it aloud to rattle his cage
I strum it aloud just to rattle his cage
Strum it aloud just to rattle his cage
Strum it aloud just to rattle his cage

Oh, I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six
Whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six



All comments from YouTube:

@wilbywilburforce7987

I love this song...this album...this artist. Thank you, Tom Waits

@tsitracommunications2884

Gives me the impression tom and his band is playing on a highballing 70 mph freight train

@strangersname

That's exactly what he wanted to convey, so I've read

@volemole

Nice, real nice.

@bjelliott

THIS is music.

@sqwashgaming

THAT is an accurate conclusion

@Ass0280

! Or ?

@Soft_Machine

Idk why but this song always brought a smile to my face i love how cartoon-y it is

@amfinc2

"im gonna whittle you into kindling"

@sleepytwink4

I plugged sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six
And the black crow snuck through a hole in the sky
So I spent all my buttons on an old pack mule
Oh, and I made me a ladder from a pawn shop marimba
I leaned it up against a dandelion tree
Leaned it up against a dandelion tree
Leaned it up against a dandelion tree

I'm gonna cook them feathers on a tire iron spit
And I filled me a satchel full of old pig corn
And I beat me a billy from an old French horn
Oh, and I kicked that mule to the top of the tree
Kicked that mule to the top of the tree
And I blew me a hole about the size of a kick drum
I cut me a switch from a long branch elbow

I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six
Whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six

Well, I slept in the holler of a dry creek bed
And I tore out the bucket from a red Corvette
Tore out the bucket from a red Corvette
Lionel and Dave and the Butcher made three
Oh, you got to meet me by the knuckles of the skinnybone tree
With the strings of a Washburn stretched like a clothesline
Oh, you know me and that mule scrambled right through the hole
Me and that mule scrambled right through the hole
I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six
Whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six

Now I hold him prisoner in a Washburn jail
That I strapped on the back of my old kick mule
Strapped it on the back of my old kick mule
Bang on the strings just to drive him crazy
Oh, I strum it aloud to rattle his cage
I strum it aloud just to rattle his cage
Strum it aloud just to rattle his cage
Strum it aloud just to rattle his cage

Oh, I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six
Whittle you into kindlin'
Black crow, sixteen shells from a thirty-ought-six

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