This was a tough nut for me to crack. In the end I came up with this tribute to Blind Willie McTell, one of my favorite early blues guys, set to a straight ahead twelve bar.
lyrics
He’d play for a shot of corn whiskey
He’d play for handful of coins
He’d keep ‘em dancing all night, straight into the mornin
The called him Pig and Whistle Red
They called him Hot Shot Willie too
He painted the hot Georgia nights a cool shade of blue
He had a tenor as pure as an angel
There was no devil in his tone
He was the king of the 12 string up on his milk crate throne
On the third Sunday of the month
He’d write a letter to Kate
He said, “I miss you baby, and I’m sorry the money is late”
Kate was back in Augusta
Raising up Rev and Sarah Belle
While Willie worked the parking lot on the corner of heaven and hell
He could take you to the pearly gates
Just like he’d tell the evening news
He sang Broke Down Engine and The Dying Crapshooter’s Blues
He always dressed up like a banker
He had a sound that shined like a bar of gold
Blind Willie always told the story the way it was meant to be told
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