Monday Night is blues Night
so I wrote you a song that go
something like dis.
I was born with the blues in my hand.
I thought it was a flesh axe,
but it was a silent guitar that only played one note.
If you’d been there, I’d have sung it for you,
but I doubt you’d have heard me.
The doc let me home with a slap on the ass
and the usual kick in the balls.
We paid him for the one, but the other was on the house.
It always seems that when I sing the sweetest—
my softest songs—
can’t nobody hear me.
Y’all don’t hear me neither.
And ‘round about 4 (years not o’clock)
I wrote you a sweet song and called it
“my head is full of you but my hands
only caught the blues.”
Mama would sang it wif’ me,
but she only sings off-key, and her one note
sounded like a song she wrote
to my melody.
Still, it made me feel good, knowing
I had accompaniment
of a sort, and I needed some damn
I’m telling you.
So when I met you,
lyrics in your left hand, sheet music in your
I figured we’d sit the fuck down
and finally write all them goddamned blues
I was born with.
I gots a muthafucken library of ‘em,
as you prolly know,
and they all have happy endings,
somebody’s songs got to.
I got a pocket full of you
but my hands are left
(With thanks to Michael Burks for the inspiration.)