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!



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