Luyện nghe bài hát Coot Marseilles Blues

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

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

Ol' worked hard, God rest his soul
He was much to roam
His entire was an old guitar
A cigarette paper and a

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lordy Lordy Lordy Lordy
Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord