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
down Mississippi way
He worked out in the white yard
And he to sing and play

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

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

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

Now on Saturdays ol' Coot didn't work
he built a fire in the stove
And when he get he'd mosey on down
And sit by the gravel

hum that song as he walked along
With the faraway in his eyes
And he sit there by the all day
them fine Ford cars go by

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

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 them

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

His songs were all about the 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 know his friends in Mississippi
thought a lot of him

So rock on and enjoy your rest
long 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 Lord