Well I used to wake the morning, before the rooster crowed.
Searching for soda bottles, to get myself some dooe.
Run em down to the corner, down to the country store.
Cash em in and give my money, to a man named Curtis Lowe.
Old Curtis was a black man, with white curly hair.
When he had a fifth of wine, he did not have a care.
He used to own an old dub row, used to play it cross his knee.
I'd give old Curt my money, he'd play all day for me.
Play me a song, Curtis Lowe, Curtis Lowe.
I got your drinking money, tune up your dob row.
People said he was usless, them people are the fools.
Cause Curtis Lowe was the finest picker to ever play the blues.
He looked to be 60, maybe and I was 10.
Momma used to woop me, but I'd go see him again.
I clapped my hands stomped my feet, try to stay in time.
He'd play me a song or two, then take another drink of wine.
Play me a song, Curtis Lowe, Curtis Lowe.
I got your drinking money, tune up your dob row.
People said he was usless, them people are the fools.
Cause Curtis Lowe was the finest picker to ever play the blues.
Yes Sir
On the day old Curtis died, nobody came to pray.
Old preacher said some words, chunked him in the clay.
He lived a lifetime, playing the blackmans blues.
And on the day he lost his life, thats all he had to do.
Play me a song, Curtis Lowe, hey Curtis Lowe.
I wish that you was here, so everyone would know.
People said you were usless, them people are the fools.
Cause Curtis your the finest picker to ever play the blues.

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