Текст песни Turpentine Blues - Casey Bill Weldon
Goin'
home
in
the
mornin',
woman,
I
sure
can't
carry
you
(Aw,
no!)
Goin'
home
in
the
mornin',
Lord,
I
sure
can't
carry
you
(Ain't
gonna
carry
nobody,
that's
the
main
thing)
Ain't
nothin'
up
down
there,
Lord,
a
monkey
woman
can
do
I
don't
want
no
jet-black
woman,
Lord,
to
cook
no
pie
for
me
(Don't
cook
nor
iron)
I
don't
want
no
jet-black
woman,
Lord,
to
cook
no
pie
for
me
(What
kind
of
man
are
you?)
'Cause
black
is
evil,
I'm
scared
she
might
poison
me
Some
men
love
high
yellow,
boy,
you
give
me
my
black
or
brown
Some
men
love
high
yellow,
boy,
you
give
me
my
black
or
brown
(That's
good
notice!)
'Cause
your
brown
be
with
you
when
the
yellow
puts
you
down
(Oh,
Mr.
Will,
play
it!)
Says,
I
wonder
would
it,
boy,
a
matchbox
hold
my
clothes
(Matchbox,
now?)
And
I
wonder
would
a
matchbox
hold
my
clothes
(You
know
how
much
there
ain't?,
I
ain't
got
nothing)
I
ain't
got
so
many,
Lord,
I
got
so
far
to
go
Gonna
wash
my
face
in
the
dear
old
Mexico
Gonna
wash
my
face
in
dear
old
Mexico
(I'm
gonna
be
back
here,
though)
Gonna
eat
my
breakfast,
thousand
miles
or
more
Now,
what
you
gonna
do,
boy,
when
your
troubles
get
like
mine?
What
you
gonna
do,
boy,
when
your
troubles
get
like
mine?
Take
you
a
mouthful
of
sugar,
boy,
and
drink
a
bottle
of
turpentine

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