Old sawbones got some age on him, thatâs why you show respect Heâs long past his prime, his mindâs a derelict Another man with an open book, he laughs at your every move Heâs reciting chosen verse of some Robert Johnson tune Heâs singing:
Chorus: âWhoa, the sun has gone to burninâ Whoa, and the creek has gone dry Whoa, black birds are circling Over the hills, where the dead folk lieâ Sister runs the table, now sheâs shaking a pile of bones Preaching to lose with the double-six cannot be condoned Old blues man feeling might poorly, thatâs why he screams and howls You ainât heard the slide guitar since the likes of Fred McDowell Heâs playing:
Chorus repeat
Neâer-do-well in the dark corner, raising anxiety Says the safest place in the world, is in-sanity Strangers come from the four corners, with passion and discontent They sing in harmony of the Reckoning Lament Theyâre singing:
Chorus repeat