Luyện nghe bài hát Coot Marseilles Blues

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

Coot was an old black man
From down way
He worked out in the man's yard
And he to sing and play

Ol' Coot worked hard, God rest his
He was much to roam
His entire was an old guitar
A cigarette paper and a

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now ol' Coot's and maybe I'm wrong
To it all back again
But I know his down in Mississippi
thought a lot of him

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

Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord
Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord