Luyện nghe bài hát Coot Marseilles Blues

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

Coot was an old black man
From down way
He worked out in the white yard
And he to sing and play

Ol' Coot worked hard, God rest his
He never was to roam
His entire band was an old
A cigarette paper and a

Now ol' Coot had one
That he would sing when his days were put in
There ain't knows that song now
I reckon that it died with him

His songs were up 'o dry bones
From pain and sweat and
And 'Lordy Lordy Lordy
Was all you'd hear

Now on Saturdays ol' didn't work much
'Cepten he a fire in the stove
And when he get through he'd on down
And sit by the gravel

He'd hum that as he walked along
With the faraway in his eyes
And he sit there by the all day
Watched them fine Ford go by

Now on Saturday night the folks danced
And ol' Coot he'd and sing
He had an old RC bottle
That he'd slide up and down them

Now Coot care much for lyrics
He just made 'em up as he along
And Lord I wish had a tape back then
'Cause I'd sure love to hear song

Well his clothes were old and his was gray
And hard had bent his back
His were never recognized
By or flags

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

Now ol' gone and maybe I'm wrong
To bring it all back
But I his friends down in Mississippi
thought a lot of him

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

Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord
Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord