Well I used to wake the morning before the rooster crowed.
Searchin for soda bottles to get myself some dough.
Brought them down to the corner, down to the country store.
Cash em in and give my money to a man named Curtis Loew.

Old Curt was a black man with white curly hair.
When he had a fifth of wine he did not have a care.
He used to own an old Dobro, used to play it across his knee.
I'd give old Curt my money he'd play all day for me.

Chorus: Play me a song Curtis Loew, Curtis Loew.
Well I got your drinkin money tune up your Dobro.
People said he was useless, but them people all were fools.
Cause Curtis Loew was the finest picker to ever play the blues.

He looked to be 60 and maybe I was 10.
Momma used to whoop me, but I'd go see him again.
I'd clap my hands, stomp my feets, try to stay in time.
He'd play a song or two then take another drink of wine.

Lead: (verse and chorus background).

On the day old Curtis died, nobody came to pray.
Old preacher said some words, and they chucked him in the clay.
Well he lived a lifetime of playing the black man's blues.
And on the day he lost his life, well that's all he had to lose.


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