Luyện nghe bài hát Coot Marseilles Blues

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

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

Ol' Coot hard, God rest his soul
He never was to roam
His entire band was an old
A cigarette and a comb

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

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

Now on ol' Coot didn't work much
'Cepten he a fire in the stove
And when he get he'd mosey on down
And sit by the road

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord
Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord