Coot Marseilles Blues

[Verse:] {This story was told to me by Jerry Clover At the 1971 Disc Jockey Convention I told Jerry I's gonna write a song about it My brother Hillman gonna play 'The Cigarette Paper And The Comb' Play it} Coot Marseilles was an old black man From down Mississippi way He worked out in the white man's yard And he loved to sing and play Ol' Coot worked hard, God rest his soul He never was much to roam His entire band was an old guitar A cigarette paper and a comb Now ol' Coot had one song That he would sing when his long days were put in There ain't nobody knows that song now Cause I reckon that it died with him His songs were made up 'o dry bones From pain and sweat and tears And 'Lordy Lordy Lordy Lordy' Was sometimes all you'd hear Now on Saturdays ol' Coot didn't work much 'Cepten he built a fire in the stove And when he get through he'd mosey on down And sit by the gravel road He'd hum that song as he walked along With the faraway look in his eyes And he sit there by the road all day Watched them fine Ford cars go by Now on Saturday night the white folks danced And ol' Coot he'd pick and sing He had an old RC bottle neck That he'd slide up and down them strings Now Coot didn't care much for lyrics He just made 'em up as he went along And Lord I wish they had a tape back then Cause I'd sure love to hear them song Well his clothes were old and his hair was gray And hard work had bent his back His songs were never recognized By statuettes or flags His songs were all about the working man And Coot never owned a tie The only thing he ever really had to do Was die Now ol' Coot's gone and maybe I'm wrong To bring it all back again But I know his friends down in Mississippi Sure thought a lot of him So rock on Coot and enjoy your rest Your long day's work is done And if they got Fords up in Heaven, sir I sure hope you're driving one Lordy Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord[x2]