Luyện nghe bài hát Coot Marseilles Blues

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

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

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

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

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

Now on Saturdays ol' Coot didn't work
'Cepten he built a fire in the
And he get through he'd mosey on down
And sit by the road

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

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

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

Well his clothes were old and his hair was
And work had bent his back
His songs were recognized
By statuettes or

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

Now ol' gone and maybe I'm wrong
To it all back again
But I know his friends down in
Sure a lot of him

So rock on and enjoy your rest
Your day's work is done
And if got Fords up in Heaven, sir
I sure hope driving one

Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord
Lordy Lordy Lordy Lordy