Luyện nghe bài hát Coot Marseilles Blues

{This story was told to me by Clover
At the 1971 Disc Convention
I told Jerry I's gonna write a song it
My brother Hillman gonna 'The Cigarette Paper And The Comb'
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 never was much to
His entire was an old guitar
A cigarette and a comb

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

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

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

He'd hum that as he walked along
the faraway look in his eyes
And he sit by the road all day
Watched fine Ford cars go by

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

Now Coot didn't much for lyrics
He just made 'em up as he went
And Lord I wish they had a tape back
'Cause I'd sure love to them song

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

His songs all about the working man
And Coot 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 know his down in Mississippi
Sure a lot of him

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

Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord
Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord