I went down one day
I went down to see a gypsy woman just one day, yes I did1
I wanna find out
What’s wrong with me and my baby
We ain’t been getting down like we used to do
I mean it’s pretty good now
But there was a time when it didn’t work out too well
I went down to see this gypsy woman, you understand
And I told her my story
I told her what was going on
And she turned to me and she said
All you need
All you gotta have
Just a touch, that’s all you gotta have
Just a touch of mojo hand2
And it feels pretty good
Words and music by Ron McKernan
A reference to a fortune-teller or to a traditional healer who is a member of the people known as the Rom. Still a people of mystery to the gaje (“outsiders”), they take care to preserve their closed society from outside scrutiny. They have traditionally occupied positions at the fringes of Western society, as fortune-tellers, tinkers, musicians, animal trainers, etc.
The title of a song recorded by Lightnin’ Hopkins.
Mojo is magic—the ability to cast spells, probably deriving from the Gullah dialect, in which moco means “witchcraft” or “magic.” Lucky hand is a synonym for mojo, and mojo is also a slang term for morphine.
According to Hoodoo—Conjuration—Witchcraft—Rootwork: Beliefs Accepted by Many Negroes and White Persons, These Being Orally Recorded Among Blacks and Whites by Harry Middleton Hyatt (Hannibal, Mo.: Alma Egan Hyatt Foundation, 1970):
A hand is a magic helper, an object or act, which aids a person in obtaining a desire. Hand has other names, among them—toby, guide, shield, roots, mojo, jomo (transposition of syllables in mojo), and hoodoo bag.
Studio recording: Anthem of the Sun (July 18, 1968).
First known performance: November 3, 1965, at Mother’s in San Francisco.
Pigpen’s improvisatory style made for many variations on the lyrics.
This version is the one performed on Anthem of the Sun.
From Phil Lesh’s autobiography:
At one point, we were standing out there, entranced by the rhythm of the wheels clickety-clacking over the welds in the rails; Billy and I looked at each other and just knew—we simultaneously burst out, “We can play this!” “This” later turned into “Caution (Do Not Stop on Tracks),” one of our simplest yet farthest-reaching musical explorations. Based on the train rhythm, it had only one chord and was played at a blistering tempo. . . . 95