Luyện nghe bài hát Coot Marseilles Blues

{This story was told to me by Clover
At the 1971 Disc Convention
I told Jerry I's gonna write a song it
My brother Hillman gonna play Cigarette Paper And The Comb'
it}

Coot Marseilles was an old man
From down way
He out in the white man's yard
And he loved to sing and

Ol' worked hard, God rest his soul
He never was to roam
His entire was an old guitar
A paper and a comb

Now ol' had one song
That he would sing his long days were put in
There ain't nobody knows that now
'Cause I that it died with him

His songs made up 'o dry bones
From and sweat and tears
And 'Lordy Lordy Lordy'
Was sometimes all hear

Now on Saturdays ol' Coot didn't much
'Cepten he built a in the stove
And he get through he'd mosey on down
And sit by the road

He'd hum that song as he along
With the faraway in his eyes
And he sit by the road all day
Watched them fine cars go by

Now on Saturday night the white folks
And ol' Coot he'd pick and
He had an old RC neck
he'd slide up and down them strings

Now Coot didn't care much for
He just made 'em up as he along
And I wish they had a tape back then
'Cause I'd sure love to hear them

his clothes were old and his hair was gray
And work had bent his back
His songs never recognized
By statuettes or

His were all about the working man
And never owned a tie
The thing he ever really had to do
Was die

Now ol' Coot's gone and maybe I'm
To it all back again
But I know his friends in Mississippi
Sure a lot of him

So rock on and enjoy your rest
Your long work is done
And if got Fords up in Heaven, sir
I hope you're driving one

Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord
Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord