Country Blues

Dock BoggsDock Boggs 

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Dock Boggs

Moran Lee "Dock" Boggs (February 7, 1898 – February 7, 1971) was an influential old-time singer, songwriter and banjo player. His style of banjo playing, as well as his singing, is considered a unique combination of Appalachian folk music and African-American blues. Contemporary folk musicians and performers consider him a seminal figure, at least in part because of the appearance of two of his recordings from the 1920s, "Sugar Baby" and "Country Blues", on Harry Smith's 1951 collection Anthology of American Folk Music. Boggs was first recorded in 1927 and again in 1929, although he worked primarily as a coal miner for most of his life. He was "rediscovered" during the folk music revival of the 1960s and spent much of his later life playing at folk music fest… more »

Year:

2002

3:50

24 Views

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Come all you good time people,
While I have money to spend,
Tomorrow might be Monday
And I neither have a dollar nor a friend.

When I had plenty of good money, good people,
My friends were all standing around,
Just as soon as my pocket book was empty
Not a friend on earth to be found.

I've gambled all over Kentucky, good people,
I've gambled part of the way through Spain.
Going back to old Virginia
For to gamble my last card game.

Last time I seen my little woman, good people,
She had a wine glass in her hand,
She's a drinking down her trouble
With a low-down sorry man.

I wrote my woman a letter, good people,
I told her I was in jail.
She wrote me back an answer
Saying "Honey, I'm a-coming to go your bail."

All around this old jailhouse is haunted good people,
Forty dollars won't pay my fine.
Corn whisky has surrounded my body, poor boy,
Pretty women is a-troubling my mind.

Boys, if you don't quit your drinking
Some time you'll be just like me;
A working out your living
In the penitentiary.

Oh my daddy taught me a-plenty, good people,
My mama, she told me more.
If I didn't quit my rowdy ways
I'd have trouble at my door.

In the bottom of the whisky glass,
The lurking devil dwells.
It burns your breast to drink it, boys;
It'll send your soul to Hell.

Go dig a hole in the meadow, good people,
Go did a hole in the ground.
Come around all you good people
And see this poor rounder go down.

When I am dead and buried
And my pale face turned to the sun,
You can come around and mourn, little woman,
And think the way you have done

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