Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Dying Crapshooter Blues, artist - MoriArty. Album song Fugitives, in the genre Фолк-рокDate of issue: 13.10.2013
Record label: Air Rytmo
Song language: English
The Dying Crapshooter Blues |
| Little Jesse was a gambler, night and day |
| And he used crooked cards and dice |
| He was a son of guy, good hearted but he had no soul |
| Jesse’s heart was hard and cold like ice |
| Jesse was a wild reckless gambler |
| He won a gang of change |
| Altho' a many gambler’s heart he led in pain |
| Jesse began to spend and loose his money |
| He began to be blue, sad and all alone |
| What broke Jesse’s heart while he was blue and all alone |
| Sweet Lorena packed up and gone |
| And the police walked up and they shot my friend Jesse down, boy |
| He got to die someday |
| Copy paste is a sin, always on the run is better |
| He had a gang, gang and gamblers at his bedside |
| And here are the words he had to say |
| I guess I ought to know |
| Exactly how I want to go |
| (How you wanna go, Jesse?) |
| Eight crapshooters to be my pallbearers |
| Let 'em be veiled down in black |
| I want nine men going to the graveyard, buddy |
| I want eight men coming back |
| I want a gang of gamblers gathered 'round my coffin-side |
| Crooked card printed on my hearse |
| My life has been a doggone curse |
| Well, well, well, well |
| Send poker players to the graveyard, buddy |
| Dig my grave with the ace of spades |
| I want twelve polices in my funeral march |
| High sheriff playin' blackjack, lead the parade |
| I want the judge and solic’ter who jailed me fourty times |
| Put a pair of dice in my shoes, what else |
| Let a deck of cards be my tombstone, buddy |
| I got the dying crapshooter |
| Sixteen real good crapshooters |
| Sixteen bootleggers to sing a song |
| I want sixteen racket men gamblin' |
| Couple tend bar while I’m rollin' along |
| He wanted twenty two womens outta the Hampton Hotel |
| He wanted twenty six off-a South Bell |
| He wanted twenty nine women outta North Atlanta |
| Know little Jesse didn’t pass out so swell |
| Well his heart was aching and his head was thumping |
| Little Jesse went down bouncin' and jumpin' |
| Folks, don’t be standing 'round ol' Jesse dying |
| He wants everybody to do the Charleston whiles he gone |
| One foot up, and a toenail dragging |
| Throw my friend Jesse in the hoodoo wagon |
| Come here mama with that can of booze |
| I got the dyin' crapshooter’s, blues |
| The dyin' crapshooter’s blues |
| The dyin' crapshooter |