Your Best Song Lyrics

Workin’ as a young one, during da cotton pickin’ days.        
Tuning my ears into, my older siblings, gospel ways.          
Smokin’ a whole lotta dope, got me to here.          
Drinking from early mornings on, got me to there.          
Playing some slow guitar chords, gave me the blues.          
Sleeping at night, always awakening, to more bad news.          
          
This is my blues.          
Purely undiluted.          
Then distilled on down.          
To its true purity.          
         
I got a kind hearted women, no imitation          
Who will not let me be, until one dies          
As she pulled up to the cotton plantation          
I looked at her, straight in the eyes          
Spoke to her, with her full attention          
I’m outta here, anything else, I forgot to mention?          
         
This is my blues.          
Purely undiluted.          
Then distilled on down.          
To its true purity.          
         
Isn’t it at all, a bit sort of creepy.          
Returning home, to da back swamps of Mississippi          
The last song I had ever written.          
Would be the death of me, once bitten       
Now ain’t that a bit haunting.          
I should’ve just read, the dire warning.          
         
This is my blues.          
Purely undiluted.          
Then distilled on down.          
To its true purity.

Born with prejudice, throw it all about
By extracting color within the blues
You’d all still enjoy it, no doubt
Without any clues, you got nothin’ to lose
The colors of blue, were made to be taken out
Now listen again, with newborn ears
Remember, when you’d let dirt get in and about
Baby face baby face without any fears
 
Tired of racism, going on and about
By liberating, we strike new tunes
You’d all still enjoy it, no doubt
Without any clues, you got nothin’ to lose
The colors of blue, were made to be taken out
Now listen again, with newborn ears
Remember, when you’d let dirt get in and about
Baby face baby face without any fears
 
All of society, from near to far about
To all city slickers, outback folks or hippie communes
You’d all still enjoy it, no doubt
Without any clues, you got nothin’ to lose
The colors of blue, were made to be taken out
Now listen again, with newborn ears
Remember, when you’d let dirt get in and about
Baby face baby face without any fears

Texas Blues is music, ending with a period
You can’t go read out of a book, and be superior
Nothing you go take a bite out of, and eat it
It’s something that is just there, real like legit

Playing sets, from seven to eleven
Crowds roll in, think their in heaven
Start with some slow riffs, like your first lesson
Then unwind my weapon, to close out the session

It’s something you grew up with, just there
I don’t know if it’s the dirt, water or the air
But hope to god, it’s a bit of all of them, hey son
By the way, moving to the West Coast, to see what’s on

Playing sets, from seven to eleven
Crowds roll in, think their in heaven
Start with some slow riffs, like your first lesson
Then unwind my weapon, to close out the session

King Albert Collins, either deny or release the freeman
Hell! He ain’t forgot what he knew, for any reason
Freed de king, over and over and over
Texas Blues is a feeling moreover

Playing sets, from seven to eleven
Crowds roll in, think their in heaven
Start with some slow riffs, like your first lesson
Then unwind my weapon, to close out the session

Something, I’m glad I know a little about
But not as much as I should, no doubt
Into both winter rain and summer shine
The two journeys of hope and land of crime

Some blues make you wander
And some blues make you stall
And the some that play for you
Don't do anything at all
Go see Stevie
Whenever it’s Texas Blues y’all

And if anything falls apart
And you feel like lying down
Tell 'em an ole southern claw-picker
Just made the call
Tell Stevie
When you hit the wall

When the gals on the dance boards
Step up and tell you what to do
And you've just had a kind of realisation
And your feet are shuffling slow
Go see Stevie
I think he’ll show

When body and coordination
Half fallen floppy head
And the afro waiter is singing backwards
And the queer nun is off to her bed
Remember what the commentator said
Feel your heart
Feel your heart