Bline Lemon Jefferson is a-coming. Tap tap tappin with his cane. Bline Lemon Jefferson is a-coming. Tap tap tappin with his cane. His last ditch lies down the road of trials Half filled with rain. O Sycamore, Sycamore! Stretch your arms across the storm. Down fly two greasy brother-crows They hop'n'bop hop'n'bop hop'n'bop Like the tax-man come to call. They go knock knock! Knock knock! Hop'n'bop hop'n'bop They slap a death-writ on his door. Here come the Judgement train Git on board! And turn that big black engine home. O let's roll! Let's roll! Down the tunnel. The terrible tunnel of his world. Waiting at his final station Like a bigger blacker third bird. O let's roll! Let's roll! O his road is dark and lonely. He don't drive no Cadillac. O his road is dark and holy. He don't drive no cadillac. If that sky serves as his eyes Then that moons a cataract. Let's roll! Yeah let's roll! (Ad lib)
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