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 gonna write a about it
My brother Hillman play 'The Cigarette Paper And The Comb'
it}

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

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

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

His songs were up 'o dry bones
From pain and and tears
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 when he get through he'd on down
And sit by the road

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

Now on Saturday night the white danced
And ol' he'd pick and sing
He had an old RC neck
That he'd slide up and down them

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

his clothes were old and his hair was gray
And hard work had bent his
His songs were never
By or flags

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 bring it all back
But I his friends down in Mississippi
Sure a lot of him

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

Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord
Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord