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T.B. BLUES
(Jimmie Rodgers)
« © '31 Peer International, BMI »

My good gal's trying to make a fool out of me
Lord my gal's trying to make a fool
[TB: ]
Take it from me: 
I just found somethin? to see 
Oh, it?s a pig, it does the Boogie, yes, Siree, 
And he really gets to do it solidly
[TB]
Take it from me: 
I just found somethin? to see 
Oh, it?s a pig, it does the Boogie, yes, Siree, 
And he really gets to do it solidly
Now, but, oh, the T.B is killing me
Oh, yeah, baby, the T.B is killing me
Yes, I want my body buried
Way down in Jackson, Tennessee
 
When I was
Now, but, oh, the T.B is killing me
Oh, yeah, baby, the T.B is killing me
Yes, I want my body buried
Way down in Jackson, Tennessee
 
When I was
way? 

[TB]
My shoes need fixin?, 
Ain't got the dope to pay... 

[MOD]
You should see old Papa Niccolini 
If that's the way you feel 
Papa
I'm in love...! 

[TB] 
I'm fresh as a daisy, quick as a flash 
Slow as a tortoise, mixed as a hash 
Fierce as a lion, meek as a lamb 
Hot
My good gal's trying to make a fool out of me
Yes my gal's trying to make a fool out of me
Trying to make me believe I ain't got that ol' TB

When it
Now, but, ooh, the T.B's is killin' me 
Now, an' I want my body buried
Way down in Jackson, Tennessee 

Now, when I was upon my feet
An I
I'm in love...! 

[TB] 
I'm fresh as a daisy, quick as a flash 
Slow as a tortoise, mixed as a hash 
Fierce as a lion, meek as a lamb 
Hot
know-ooh, T.B. is killin' me.
Don't you know, don't you know
T.B. is killin' me.
Say, I was on my bed of affliction.

I didn't even have a friend aound.
Yes, I want my body buried
Way down in Jackson, Tennessee
Want my body buried now, people
Way down in Jackson, Tennessee

Don't you know, T.B. is
simply surrender to high
and your lungs
they're mourning
t-b style

all the stillborn love that could have happened
all the moments you should have
to fly 
Even as you and I... 

(Conversation between Tex Beneke and Dorothy Claire:) 
TB: (whistle, whistle, whistle) 
DC: Hi, Texecutive, whattaya
The cool room, Lord is a fool's room.
And I can almost smell your T.B. sheets
And I can almost smell your T.B. sheets
On your sick bed. 

I gotta go, I
sign that you are dead
And my list for you checks off as null
I'm the harvester of eyes

I'm the eye man of TV
With my ocular TB
I need all
People lookin' fresh
In their lightning bones
Had the T.B. Blues
I couldn't find no phones
Women driving down
In their whipflash rides
Had
for you, Oh, Lord. 

The cool room, Lord, is a fool's room,
The cool room, Lord, is a fool's room,
And I can almost smell your T.B. sheets
And I
that and more

What is there to do I'm alright so are you
But outside there are TB streets
You can cry a lot say Oh! My God!'
But as an action it is
the eatin' kind! 

TB: 
But them baby rug-cutters down Texas way 
They been blowin' on Sweet Potatoes 
And really make 'em play! 

MH: 
Why don't you
Baby
Don't forget

I'm still laughin' (TB: Good)
I'm still laughin'
I'm still laughin away, it's okay
I'm still laughin'
I'm still laughin'
I
make sure you're clean
Wrap you up in hospital green
Shoot you full of Thorazine
The sanitarium blues

Could be TB or maybe a tumor
Eavesdropping
on pills and jump from the Golden Gate Bridge
Anything to feel weightless again

Those poor lost Indians when the white man found them
Most died of TB
on pills
And jump from the golden gate bridge
Anything to feel weightless again

Those poor lost Indians when the white men found them
Most died of TB
You can't blow that 
that's the eatin' kind! 
TB: 
But them baby rug-cutters down Texas way 
They been blowin' on Sweet Potatoes 
And really make

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