Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Nasty Blues

I have a hard time missing you baby, with my pistol in your mouth

Mmmm have a hard time missing you baby, with my pistol in your mouth

You may be thinking 'bout going north, but your brains are staying south



Just roll your pretty eyes, if you intend to stay

Just roll your pretty eyes, if you intend to stay

Close 'em up again, and I blow your world away



I see your eyes are rollin'

Must mean your love for me has come back

Must mean you're satisfied again

With our little wooden country shack

I have a hard time missing you baby, with my pistol in your mouth

You may be thinking about going north woman, but your brains are staying south



Even if you sneak away

I'll find you before nightfall

You're tied to me girl

I can feel your sweetblood call

Even if you sneak away

I'll find you before nightfall

Caused you are tied to me girl

I can feel your sweetblood call

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Look-a here mama.
Can’t get along.
Honey I really tried to treat you right.
Now when I come in from work.
Give ya my check.
You wants to raise sand, fuss an fight.
Get a chance to stay out all night.
You left last night at eight.
Going to a show.
An’ come sliding in this morning at four.
You even had the nerve honey.
Bring another man.
Let him drive you up to my front door.
Say you’re through.
Ya got all my money too.
Come here woman let me tell ya what I’m gonna do to you.
I’m gonna cut your head four different ways.
That’s Long, short, deep and wide.
When I get through spreading rhythm of this rusty black handle razor
you’re gonna be booked out for an ambulance ride.
‘cause I’m gonna cut A, B, C, D on top of your head
That’s gonna be treating you nice like mama you ain’t gonna be dead.
Cut E, F, G right across your face.
H, I, J, K that’s where runnin’ bound to take place.
Cut L, M, N cross both your arms.
You’ll (Sell ??????? an’ pedal/peddle) gal your whole life long.
Cut N, O, P, Q that’s gonna be trouble too.
‘cause I’m gonna grab you mama and turn you every way but loose
Cut R, S, T to hear you cry
That’ll be the last time tears a run from over your eyes.
Cut U, V, W on the bottom of your feet.
That’ll be the last time you walk up an’ down 25th street.
Gonna mark you cross your bosom with X, Y, Z.
When I get through with this alphabet
you’ll quit your messing with me.

Sometimes blues music is downright mean.....

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