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Saturday, May 16, 2009

This post was just a whim relating to blues songs and their narrative lyrics. All, or most, of the lines in the song contain lyrics from famous blues music. I thought it might be interesting to incorporate the crossroads with desires for sexual powers, two themes often addressed in the blues. Go on down to the delta and hear the story of desire and murder. Stackolee, The Mojo Man I'm went down to Louisiana to get a gris-gris and a mojo hand On the seventh day, on the seventh month from the hoo-doo man, My second cousin from the bayou, that little Johnny Cocheroo. Won't be no peace in the barnyard when your little red rooster gets through. Walked down to the crossroads and fell down on my knees Sippin' dark whiskey, I begged the devil to hear my drunkard's plea. You know I didn't feel so bad, 'til the good ol' sun went down. Then the blues come along and messed my spirit all around. Ah, oh, I saw smokestack lightning shootin' flames into the sky. Why don't ya hear me cryin'? Ah, whoo hoo, ooh... why? Hell hounds on my trail and no one to throw my arms around I got the black cat moan down on this cold, cold ground. When I woke up in the morning the deal's was down and done. I started back to New Orleans to spend my life in the Rising Sun With my sweet little angel 'cause I love the way she spread her wings. Stuff I got'll bust her brains out, baby, hoo hoo, it'll make her sing. Now I can stand up next to a mountain and chop it down with the edge of my hand. Make you believe in things, girl, that you just don't understand. I ain't foolin' you baby, I give my woman, now, the ninety-nine degree. Men don't know this back door man eats mo' chicken than they ever seen. Girl you better come on in my kitchen 'cause it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors. And let me put it to you mama hoping that you'll understand me more. You know they call it stormy Monday, but Tuesday's just as bad. I am not just your lover, baby, I'm your Hootchie Coochie Man.
So, come on in momma and turn the lamp way down low.
I was born under a bad sign and I been goin' down slow.
I'm beggin' you, honey, cut out that off the wall jive.
If you can't treat me no better, it's gotta be your funeral and my trial.

Then,she jumped up and throwed a .44 pistol down on me.
I screamed, "Stop breakin'down pretty mama, don't plug  ol' Stackolee
I should have quit you a long time ago- whoa, yeah, a long time ago.
I was foolin' with ya baby, please don't put me on the killin' floor."
C.C. Rider, drag my carcass down to the St. James Infirmary Take my bottom dollar from my pocket, steal my mojo away from me. All my lovin', all my money- she left me cold for that ramblin' rake. Lying here on this long white table, I'm not fattenin' no more frogs for snakes.
There's just two kind favors I'll ask you, kid, to do:
See that my grave's kept clean and steer clear of Johnny Cocheroo.
Cause when the black hearse left, it had two lights on behind.
The red light was my baby and the blue light was my mind.

I wouldn't be here, my children

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