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Lyrics » Letter : B » Artist : Bill Morrissey » Buddy Bolden's Blues Lyrics

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Buddy Bolden's Blues by Bill Morrisseyالقصائد الغناءيه -текстове на песни -texty -paroles -στίχοι -गीतletras -songteksten -тексты песен -versuri -tekst utworu -testi -the text of the song - - نص الاغنيةтекста на песента -tekst pjesme -text písně -teksten til sangen -teksti, laulu -le texte de la chanson -το κείμενο του τραγουδιού -पाठ के गीतEl texto de la canción -de tekst van het lied -der Text des Liedes -teksten til sangen -o texto da canção -Текст песни -textul de la piesa -Texten till låten -il testo della canzone

Buddy Bolden's Blues by Bill Morrissey

     

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I've been to Germany, I've been to Spain
Walked down Beale Street and turned up Main
When I put her on that last mail train
there was nothing left to lose

I listened to the engine whine
And when she set off this one last time
she didn't leave a single thing behind
Just like Buddy Bolden's Blues

There's nothing uptown, no money down
Buy the high-tension whiskey just to pass around
Faces in the window, but I'm standing on the ground
and I'm down to twos and fews

The rhythm section is one seat short
And you can't get on board without your passport
You knew she took so you'd come up short
Just one more gig you must refuse

(Refrain:)
In this town you can't let down your guard
The boys play trumpet, but they blow too hard
In the final hand you get no wild card
just the Buddy Bolden blues
The morning sun on a brown suitcase
And soon you too will have to leave this place
Just one more gone without a trace
singing Buddy Bolden's blues

Her eyes were closed when she said goodbye
She couldn't see me and she didn't try
Still she kissed me and I don't know why
but she was never one to leaves clues

Trains come to town only to leave
The band plays loud to let the mourners grieve
The heart stays hidden in a rolled up sleeve
Empty pockets pay no dues

The sun don't rise in a greasy sky
The rails may call, but the roads just sigh
Believe I'll give New Orleans one more try
with a spit shine on my walking shoes

Stand on the corner, trying to catch a break
But good luck these days is too hard to fake
And there's nothing left of her but what talk we make
Just like Buddy Bolden's blues

Writer : BILL MORRISSEY
Copyright : Lyrics © BUG MUSIC

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