You've come to the right place. There are many versions of this great American song. "The Erotic Muse" by Ed Cray lists four raunchy versions, here's the first:

Frankie and Johnny were lovers;
Oh, Lordy, how they made love
Swore to be true to each other
True as the stars above
For he was her man,
But he done her wrong

Frankie was a good girl
Most everybody knows
She gave a hundred dollars
To Johnny for a suit of clothes.
'Cause he was here man
but he done her wrong

Frankie workied in a crib-joint
Behind a grocery store
She gave all her money to Johnny
He spent it on high-tone whores.
God damn his soul
He done her wrong

Frankie was a fucky hussy,
That's what all the pimps said,
And they kept her so damn busy,
She never got out of bed
But he done her wrong
God damn his soul

Frankie, she knowed her business
She hung out a sign on the door
"Fresh fish cost you a dollar here
Fancy fucking cost ten cent more."
He was her man
He done her wrong

Frankie went down to Fourth Street
She ordered a glass of beer
Said to the big bartendin man,
"Has my ever-lovin' man been here?"
God damn his soul
He done her wrong.

"I couldn't tell you no story.
I couldn't tell you no lie
I saw your Johnny an hour ago
With a whore called Alice Bly.
God damn his soul,
He was don' you wrong

Frankie ran back to her crib-joint
Fixin' to do him some harm
She took out a bindle of horse
And shot it right up her arm
God damn his soul
He was doing her wrong

Frankie put on her kimono;
This time it wasn't for fun
'Cause right underneath it
Was a great big forty-four gun
God damn his soul
He done her wrong

She ran along Fish Alley
Looked in a window so high,
Saw her lovin' Johnny
Finger-fucking Alice Bly.
He was doin her wrong
God damn his soul.

Frankie went to the front door.
She rang the whore house bell
"Stand back you pimps and whores
Or I'll blow you straight to hell.
I'm hunting my man.
Who's doin' me wrong.

Frankie drew back her kimono,
Pulled out her big forty-four.
Tooty-toot-toot, three times she shoot
Left him lyin on that whorehouse floor
. She shot her man
'Cause he done her wrong.

"Roll me over Frankie
Roll me over slow.
A bullet got me in my right side,
Oh God, it hurts me so.
You killed your man
Cause I done your wrong."

Frankie ran back to her crib-joint
She fell across the bed.
Sayin "Lord, oh Lord, I've shot my man
I've shot my Johnny dead.
He was my man
God damn his soul

Three little pieces of crepe
Hanging on the crib-joint door
Signifies that Johnny
Will never be a pimp no more
God damn his soul
He done her wrong.

"Bring out your rubber tired buggy.
Bring out your rubber tired hack.
I'm taking my man to the graveyard;
I ain't gonna bring him back.
He was my man
But he done me wrong."

They brought a rubber-tired buggy
They brought a rubber-tired hack
Thirteen pimps went to the cemetery
But only twelve came back
He's dead and gone
He was doin her wrong

Frankie went out to the graveyard
Sorry as she could be
Ridin behind a whorehouse band
Playin "Nearer My God to Thee."
He was her man
He was doing her wrong

Frankie stood up in the courtroom
"I'm not talkin no sass
I didn't shoot Johnny in the first degree.
I shot him in his big black ass
He was my man
He was doin me wrong

The judge said "Stand up Frankie,
Stand up and dry your tears.
You know murder's a hanging crime
But I'll give your ninety-nine years
He was your man
But he was doin you wrong.

The last time I saw Frankie
She was ridin on that train
Takin her to the jail house
Never bring her back again
. He was her man
God damn his soul