Lyrics Coot Marseilles Blues - Tom T. Hall

Coot Marseilles Blues

(This story was told to me by Jerry Clover at the 1971 discjockey convention
I told Jerry I’s gonna write a song about it My brother Hillman gonna play the cigarette paper and the comb play)
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 sat 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 tape back then cause I’d sure love to hear them songs
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