Some of us are born to know it,
guitar men riding the blues train,
southern gumbo, smoke and booze,
the big muddy mojo voodoo beat.
Born to be blue is born to the blues,
heart of Bourbon and Beale Street,
up from the dust devil crossroad,
work and sweat, a wailing sound.
From Lead Belly and Muddy Waters,
the blues has told the painful tale,
broken bottleneck slide and a 32-20,
blues kings moaning and howling.
Some are born to feel the blues,
born to a rhythm, tapping a shoe,
conjure of the mournful hoodoo,
bringing it home from Louisiana.
The signalman calls from the rail shack,
I hear the ring of steel down the track.
Pack my bag; I'm late for the show,
the western clouds are hanging low.
I got me a faded old two dollar bill,
and a broken down six string guitar.
If I ever spend that deuce greenback,
baby gonna have to scratch my back.
I was born to the blues and I know it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
BARRY…That is so good.I just love it crazy. you just gotta tap your foot.You make me feel like I am on that freight..! Thank you for the great read. Geoffrey.
Thanks Geoff, I thought you might like it. It is one of my favorites.