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JERRY LEE LEWIS lyrics - She Even Woke Me Up To Say Goodbye

Workin' Man Blues

Original and similar lyrics
It's a big job just getting by with nine kids and a wife Jerry Lee's been a workin' man dang near all his life And I'll keep working long as these two hands are fit to use I'll drink my beer in a tavern Sing a little bit of them working man blues, yeah Well, I keep my nose on the grindstone, I work hard every day I might get a little drunk on the weekend after I draw my pay I'll go back working long as these two hands are fit to use I'll drink my whiskey at evening Sing a little bit of them working man blues Sometimes I think about leaving, I do a little bumming around I wanna throw my bills out the window catch a train to another town I go back working, I gotta buy my kids a brand new pair of shoes And I drink my whiskey in a tavern Cry a little bit of them a working man blues I drink a little beer in a tavern Sing a little bit of them a working man blues Yeah, drink my beer in a tavern Cry a little bit of them a working man blues

The Salt Of The Earth

JOAN BAEZ "Blessed Are..."
Let's drink to the hard working people Let's drink to the lowly of birth Raise your glass to the good and the evil Let's drink to the salt of the earth Say a prayer for the common foot soldier Spare a thought for his back breaking work Say a prayer for his wife and his children Who burn the fires and who still till the earth When I search a faceless crowd Swirling mass of grey and black and white They don't look real to me, In fact they look so strange Raise your glass to the hard working people Let's drink to the uncounted head Let's think of the wavering millions Who want leaders but get gamblers instead Spare a thought for the stay-at-home voter His empty eyes gaze at strange beauty shows And a parade of gray suited grafters A choice of cancer or polio! And when I search a faceless crowd Swirling mass of grey and black and white They don't look real to me, In fact they look so strange Let's drink to the hard working people Let's think of the lowly of birth Spare a thought for the ragtaggy people Let's drink to the salt of the earth Let's drink to the hard working people Let's drink to the salt of the earth Let's think of the three thousand million Let's think of the humble of birth

Salt Of The Earth

Rolling Stones "Beggar's Banquet"
Lets drink to the hard working people Lets drink to the lowly of birth Raise your glass to the good and the evil Lets drink to the salt of the earth Say a prayer for the common foot soldier Spare a thought for his back breaking work Say a prayer for his wife and his children Who burn the fires and who still till the earth And when i search a faceless crowd a swirling mass of gray and black and white they don't look real to me in fact, they look so strange Raise your glass to the hard working people Lets drink to the uncounted heads Lets think of the wavering millions Who need leaders but get gamblers instead Spare a thought for the stay-at-home voter His empty eyes gaze at strange beauty shows And a parade of the gray suited grafters A choice of cancer or polio And when i search a faceless crowd A swirling mass of gray and Black and white They don't look real to me In fact, they look so strange Lets drink to the hard working people Lets think of the lowly of birth Spare a thought for the rag taggy people Lets drink to the salt of the earth Lets drink to the hard working people Lets drink to the salt of the earth Lets think of the two thousand million Lets think of the humble of birth

Blind Willie Mctell

BOB DYLAN "Bootleg Series, Vols. 1-3: Rare Unreleased, 1961-1991"
Seen the arrow on the doorpost Saying, 'This land is condemned All the way from New Orleans To Jerusalem.' I traveled through East Texas Where many martyrs fell And I know no one can sing the blues Like Blind Willie McTell Well, I heard the hoot owl singing As they were taking down the tents The stars above the barren trees Were his only audience Them charcoal gypsy maidens Can strut their feathers well But nobody can sing the blues Like Blind Willie McTell See them big plantations burning Hear the cracking of the whips Smell that sweet magnolia blooming (And) see the ghosts of slavery ships I can hear them tribes a-moaning (I can) hear the undertaker's bell (Yeah), nobody can sing the blues Like Blind Willie McTell There's a woman by the river With some fine young handsome man He's dressed up like a squire Bootlegged whiskey in his hand There's a chain gang on the highway I can hear them rebels yell And I know no one can sing the blues Like Blind Willie McTell Well, God is in heaven And we all want what's his But power and greed and corruptible seed Seem to be all that there is I'm gazing out the window Of the St. James Hotel And I know no one can sing the blues Like Blind Willie McTell

One Hundred Ways

Freddie Jackson
Living on the Highway L Russell/D Nix It was twenty years ago, I was about fourteen years old, When I first heard that Wolfman's howl. He sneaked me through the door, there was whisky on the floor, And the fuzz they were on the prowl It seems so long ago, I'm living on the Highway now He's a giant of a man, He always understands The very best notes to use His hand make two of mine, his heart beat right on time He taught me how to sing the blues He's the reason why I choose to live on the highway now I played the blues with Walter, and Muddy pulled me through I know a Jimmy Rogers song or two But there's one thing I know, no matter where I go I can do a little howling too That's why I sing these blues, I'm living on the highway now The years have come and gone but the blues still go on I only sing my songs for fun If you ask me to, I'll do a song for you, 'Cause the women like to see me come Me and my guitar, my band, we're living on the highway now

All Day Drinkin

Macc Lads
Staggered in MacDonalds on a Friday afternoon, All the pubs were shut, There were knob all else fer do. I said, Gissus a Big Mac now you spotty little twat. He said, Have a nice day sir, would you like a paper hat? I said, Have a nice day bollocks, And where's me fucking Mac? An' I'll have a pint of root beer in a proper fucking glass, If it's some new bloody lager, I'll smash yer nose into the floor. I won't be drinking in MacDonalds when they change the drinking laws. An' I'll drink, drink, drink 'till it's coming out me ears, And I'll drink, drink, drink 'till the pub runs out of beer. An' I'll drink, drink, drink 'till I can't take another sip. An' I'll have all day drinking on an intrevenous drip. Yeah. So what's the point of drinking up at three o fucking clock? When there's decent ales in Scotland, but that's all full of Jocks. The penny-pinching bastards, they've all got ginger hair. It'll take an hour to buy a pint, can't understand a word. And they're queueing up outside the pubs, Waiting for a sale, Bet they wish they put their bags on when it blows a bloody gale. Everyone will buy more beer when they change the drinking laws, Spend the extra tax they get to mend that fucking wall. An' I'll drink, drink, drink 'till it's coming out me ears, I'll drink, drink, drink 'till the pub runs out of beer. An' I'll drink, drink, drink 'till I can't take another sip. All day drinking on an intrevenous drip. An' we'll drink, drink, drink 'till it's coming out us ears, We'll drink, drink, drink 'till the pub runs out of beer. An' we'll drink, drink, drink 'till we can't take another sip.

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