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 gonna play 'The Cigarette And The Comb'
it}

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

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

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

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

Now on Saturdays ol' didn't work much
'Cepten he built a fire in the
And when he get through he'd on down
And sit by the gravel

hum that song as he walked along
With the faraway look in his
And he sit by the road all day
Watched them Ford cars go by

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

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

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

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

Now ol' Coot's gone and I'm wrong
To bring it all back
But I his friends down in Mississippi
Sure a lot of him

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

Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord
Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord