St. Louis Blues, Part 2 Songtext
von Bob Wills and His Texas Playboys

Alright friends, St. Louis Blues again Part Two coming up

Jodie

Oh feel it Jodie, feel it, yeah
Come in Thomas Elma Dinkins, yes he is

Something about you mama
(Talking to you mama)
Sure give me the blues
(Boy you sure have a lot of an idea, yes, yes woah)
Something about you mama (oh baby)
Sure give me the blues
(What in a world you sprout these idea Tommy, ha)
An angel drop stick stockings (no-no-no)
Might be your blue buckles shoes (solely might be)
(Play the piano, man, brother Carlson)


Listen all, you rounders
You better leave my good guy alone
Oh, listen all, you rounders
You better leave my good guy alone
′Cause you can give her nothing
She can get it at home
(You don't know her)

(How about a pair of nylon socks?) Woah, yeah

(Oh Thomas let′s hear you)
Come here and tell me mama (uh-uh)
Whose body shoes are these? (Oh dear)
Why don't you tell me mama (tell him something)
Whose body shoes are these?
(I don't know what are you hollering about)
(All you pass shoes ahead)
Lord, you see right here (where about)
Where my shoes oughta be
(With another pair of feet in it)

(Not now, coming Alex)

Yeah


(Oh let′s hear you again brother Thomas Elma Dinkins)
When you see me coming (uh-uh)
Mama raise your window high
(I hear you talking boy)
When you see me coming (uh-uh)
Mama raise your window high
(What about when you taking off, uh)
But when you see me leaving (yes, yes)
Baby, hang your head and cry

Here comes that fat boy
Look that, at you

Ah
(Oh play the pretty pour game)
Yeah

Doggone it
(What′s the matter boy?)
Doggone that a-gal too
(What's she gon′ done to you now, son?)
Well, man, she done pulled out, left me f-l-a-t flat, that's all
(That′s done left you short right now)

I don't care though (you don′t care?) No, sir
(How come you don't care, son?)
I don't like to judge snowball blonde hair
(Well, well, well, oh I never, what kinda hair do you like?)
On an average, I like any kinda hair (huh)
I said I was crazy about black hair
(Tell me about that black hair, son)

Well, St. Louis blues be on your way (done gone)
′Cause, a black-headed woman make a freight train a-jump the track
(Man, you ain′t tellin' me nothing)
I said, a black-headed woman (uh-huh) make a freight train a-jump the track
(What about that long tall gal do, what she do, huh? That long tall girl)
That long tall gal (uh-huh) make a bullfrog ball a jack
Yeah