I know a man who sings the blues Yeah he plays just what he feels Keeps a letter in the pocket of his coat But he never breaks the seal
Set up in a barroom corner Playing for tips and beer People carrying on and drinking You gotta strain to hear
I’ve seen him playing some old cheap guitar But he could play on pots and pans You never heard a soul so pure and true It’s flowing right out of his hands He can sing sweet as a choir girl Or he can sing a house on fire I’ve seen him calling up the angels And use a breeze for a telephone wire
And if you ask him How he sings his blues so well He says I got a soul that I won’t sell I got a soul that I won’t sell I got a soul that I won’t sell And I don’t read postcards from hell
Says he came from down in Texas
Playin’ out since he’s fifteen You can hear a little Chicago And a lot of New Orleans Hecan take you on a freight train He can take you down the alley He can take you to the church He can walk you through the valley
And if you ask him How he sings his blues so well He says I got a soul that I won’t sell I got a soul that I won’t sell I got a soul that I won’t sell And I don’t read postcards from hell
I’ve seen him sleeping in a doorway Maybe living outside On his back just like a cockroach But he ain’t waiting to die
And if you ask him How he sings his blues so well He says I got a soul that I won’t sell I got a soul that I won’t sell I got a soul that I won’t sell And I don’t read postcards from hell