Luyện nghe bài hát Coot Marseilles Blues

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now on Saturday night the folks danced
And ol' he'd pick and sing
He had an old RC neck
That 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 back then
'Cause I'd sure to hear them song

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

His songs were all about the man
And Coot owned a tie
The only he ever really had to do
Was die

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

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

Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord
Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord