Luyện nghe bài hát Coot Marseilles Blues

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now on Saturday the white folks danced
And ol' Coot he'd and sing
He had an old RC neck
That he'd up and down them strings

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

Well his clothes were old and his hair was
And hard work had his back
His songs never recognized
By or flags

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

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

So rock on Coot and enjoy rest
Your day's work is done
And if got Fords up in Heaven, sir
I sure you're driving one

Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord
Lordy Lordy Lordy Lordy