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 gonna write a about it
My brother Hillman gonna '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 loved to sing and

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

Now ol' Coot had one
he would sing when his long days were put in
There ain't knows that song now
'Cause I that it died with him

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

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

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

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

Now didn't care much for lyrics
He just made 'em up as he went
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 hard work had bent his
His songs were recognized
By or flags

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

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

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

Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord
Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord