Mamie Neale, down in Beale,

Gave her papa the air,

Left him cold, got him told,

Like she didn't care;

Poor Joe, her beau,

Looked just like he would die;

If you would see her, you would hear her, sob this mournful cry:



Beale Street Papa, why don't you come back home?

It isn't proper to leave your mama all alone.

Sometimes I was cruel, that's true,

But your sweet mama never did two-time you;

Ah, ooh, I'm blue!

So how come you do me like you do?

I'm cryin'!



Beale Street Papa, I mean, don't you mess around with me;

There's plenty petting I can get in Tennessee,

I get my lovin' constantly, but not the kind you served to me,

So please, sweet papa, come back home!



Beale Street Papa, I mean, don't you mess around with me;

There's plenty petting I can get in Tennessee,

I bought a razor, rifle, rope and knife,

But if the police comes for you, baby, gonna save my life,

So Beale Street Papa, come back home!