Luyện nghe bài hát Coot Marseilles Blues

{This was told 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 Marseilles was an old man
From Mississippi way
He worked out in the white man's
And he loved to sing and

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

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

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

Now on Saturdays ol' Coot work much
'Cepten he a fire in the stove
And when he get through mosey on down
And sit by the road

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

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

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

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

His songs were all about the man
And Coot owned a tie
The only thing he ever 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
Sure a lot of him

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

Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord
Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord