| Jenny Neale,
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| Down in Beale,
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| Gave her papa the air;
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| Left him cold,
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| Got him told,
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| Said she didn’t care.
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| Old Joe, her beau,
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| Looked just like he would die;
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| If you was near him,
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| You would hear him
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| Sob his mournful cry:
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| Beale Street Papa,
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| Why don’t you come back home?
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| It isn’t proper to leave your mama all alone!
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| Sometimes I was cruel, that was true,
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| But Papa, you know Mama never two-timed you!
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| Boo-hoo, I’m blue;
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| So how come you do me like you do?
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| I’m cryin'!
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| Beale Street Papa, don’t mess around with me!
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| There’s plenty pettin' that I can get in Tennessee,
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| I’ll still get my sweet cooking, constantly,
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| But not the kind you served to me,
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| So Beale Street Papa, come back home!
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| So how come you do me like you do?
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| I’m cryin'!
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| Beale Street Papa, don’t mess around with me!
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| There’s plenty pettin' that I can get in Tennessee,
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| I bought a rifle, razor and a knife,
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| A full support can’t save my life;
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| So Beale Street Papa, come back home! |