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Well I used to wake the morning before the rooster crowed |
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Searching for soda bottles to get myself some dough |
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Brought 'em down to the corner, down to the country store |
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Cash 'em in and give my money to a man named Curtis Loew |
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Old Curt was a black man with white curly hair |
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When he had a fifth of wine he did not have a care |
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He used to own an old dobro, used to play it across his knee |
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I'd give old Curt my money, he'd play all day for me |
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(Chorus) |
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Play me a song Curtis Loew, Curtis Loew |
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I got your drinking money, tune up your dobro |
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People said he was useless, them people are the fools |
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'Cause Curtis Loew was the finest picker to ever play the blues |
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He looked to be sixty, and maybe I was ten |
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Mama used to whip me but I'd go see him again |
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I'd clap my hands, stomp my feets, try to stay in time |
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He'd play me a song or two |
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Then take another drink of wine. |
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Chorus |
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Yes sir |
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On the day old Curtis died, nobody came to pray |
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Ol' preacher said some words, and they chunked him in the clay |
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But he lived a lifetime playin' the black man's blues |
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And on the day he lost his life, that's all he had to lose |
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Play me a song Curtis Loew, Hey Curtis Loew |
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I wish that you was here so everyone would know |
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People said he was useless, them people all are fools |
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'Cause Curtis you're the finest picker to ever play the blues |
