This page contains lyrics to the following song(s):
Lonnie Johnson recorded this on June 16, 1931 in New York. In it he sings not particularly flattering of beautiful women. "Emancipation" wasn't in his dictionary, clearly. It is but one of a number of blues that Lonnie recorded that were less than friendly toward the female sex (even downright hostile); see e.g. "Low Down St. Louis Blues" or "Cat You Been Messin' Around".
This is from the LP "Lonnie Johnson 1927-32" (Matchbox Bluesmaster Series). The back of the sleeve proudly proclaims: "All sixteen titles never before L.P." Which has always puzzled me since there are nine titles on Side A and nine on Side B...
To marry a beautiful woman these days, Is just like a murder crime To marry a beautiful woman these days, Is just like a murder crime If you lookin' for a real good woman, Boy you just wastin' time First she don't know how to sweeten your coffee, She can't even make up your bed She don't know how to sweeten your coffee, She can't make up your bed She can't even roast your meat And how she mess up your bread Next she can't bake cornbread, She can't even boil beef stew She can't even bake cornbread, She can't boil beef stew Man if your woman is beautiful and dumb, That don't mean a thing to you My gal baked me some bread this morning, The bread refused to rise My gal baked me some bread this morning, The bread refused to rise The crust was tough on the bread, Was as the rubber on a Maxwell tyre Some men crave beautiful women, But in my life it's not worthwile Some men crave beautiful women, But in my life it's not worthwile After all they're just beautiful, Ain't got sense of a newborn child
(Recorded on August 21, 1931 in New York. From Matchbox LP MSE1013). Here Lonnie uses the familiar jockey/rider metaphor to brag about his sexual prowess. The metaphor has been used regularly in the blues; see e.g. Bill Samuels' "Jockey Blues".
See also:
You say you're a race horse mama, your jockey ain't never been found You say you're a race horse mama, but your jockey ain't never been found But you've found the best little jockey, I'm the best rider in town Now you may be a good race horse mama, but I don't think you're so hot You may be a good race horse , but I don't think you're so hot Cause when it comes to ridin' what you know, baby I've done forgotten To be a good race horse, a good jockey's what you really need To be a good race horse mama, a good jockey's what you really need Cause when you get on your home stretch, you don't know how to pick up your speed Now to be a good race horse, you got to try and hold your second spot To be a good race horse mama, you got try to hold your second spot As soon as you get on your home stretch, give your jockey every bit you got Now if you wanna be a good race horse, let me do your trainin' from now on If you want to be a real good race horse, let me do your trainin' from now on And I will make you win races, mama that have never been won I'm a jockey by trade, I've rode the best horses that run I'm a jockey by trade, I've rode the best in horses that run And if you don't start jumpin', I will show you how the ridin's done
This song was written by Lonnie Johnson, and released in 1960 on the Bluesville label. Not to be confused with the "Big Legged Woman" by Brownie McGhee with Sonny Terry!
Yes I've got me a big legged woman, that solid rocks my soul
Yes I've got me a big legged woman, that solid rocks my soul
And every time she turns the lights down low,
Jack that's when I give up all my gold
She's so fine, she's so mellow, the rest I can't explain
Yes she's so fine, she's so mellow, rest I can't explain
Way my baby stacked up,
it's enough to drive the average cat insane
Yes she's got great big legs, so pleasin' on the eye
Yes she's got those great big legs, so pleasin' on the eye
And the preacher walked by, turned around and looked,
Jack and hollered "My, my, my!"
She's got those big brown eyes, yes and she's somethin' really fine
Yes she's got those big brown eyes, Jack she's somethin' really fine
And the best part about it,
Jack she's mine, all mine!
Lonnie Johnson recorded this classic blues on December 17, 1927 in Chicago.
It was reissued on the LP "Lonnie Johnson, Volume Two: 1927-32" on the Matchbox Bluesmaster Series in 1987.
Love oh love oh careless love Love, love oh careless love You have caused me to weep You have caused me to moan You have caused me to lose my happy home Don't never drive a stranger from your door Don't never drive a stranger from your door It may be your best friend knockin' on your door Then it may be your brother, you will never now Careless love, look how you carry me down Careless love, look how you carry me down You caused me to lose my mother and she's layin' in six feet of ground Carless love I can't let you carry me down Careless love, you drove me through the rain and snow Careless love,you drove me through the rain and snow You have robbed me out of my silver and out of all my gold I'll be damned if you rob me out of my soul You've worried my mother until she died You've caused my father to lose his mind Now damn you, I'm goin' to shoot you and shoot you four five times And stand over you until you finish dyin'
(Recorded January 12, 1932 in New York. From Matchbox LP MSE10123).
Unusually nasty lyrics, in this blues where Lonnie refuses to accept that his woman's child is his own. Subtlety was not on the order of the day, that's for sure...
Now look here woman, you done lost your mind This is not my child, you bring me a better line Cause there's something wrong, woman don't start that lies there's something wrong I never had such mix-ups in my family Since I was born First it's loop-footin' And its head is long And it's been half nuts ever since you brought it back home So there's something wrong I mean there's something wrong Oh take it back where you got it Woman cause depression is on Now his eyes is blue And his hair's brown You know darn well you've been messin' around So take that lie off of me I mean take that lie off of me Woman you had a twelve-month vacation So don't put that lie on me Now his head is nappy And his feets is long His eyes is crossed And his sight is gone You know there's something wrong Yes woman there's something wrong I never had nothing like that in my family Woman since I was born Now I said it wasn't my child and you argued me down Now my eyes ain't blue and my hair ain't brown Woman you've been messin' around Yes woman you've been messin' around So woman get out of my face Or I take my fist and knock you down
Recorded on January 23, 1930 in New York City; from Matchbox LP MSE1013.
Looked down that long old lonesome road Looked down that long old lonesome road My poor feet is gettin' tired, but still I've got to go There's no train to my home town, ain't but the one way to go There's no train to my home town, ain't but the one way to go That's mile after mile, trampin' that muddy road It's just one thing, that worries me both night and day Ain't but one thing, that worries me both night and day There's a place they call Death Valley, and it's just halfway You can't see a house, in twenty-five miles around I can't see nobody, goin' towards my ol' home town I've still got three hundred miles to go, and my poor feet is giving down I can hear the wild cats and panthers, howl when the sun go down Can you hear the wild cats and panthers, howlin' when the sun go down And I've got to go through Death Valley, to get to my old home town I've been trampin' this lonely road, forty nights and days My poor legs is gettin' tired, don't help me someways Cause I've got three hundred miles to go, trampin' in this mud and clay
Recorded on January 23, 1930 in New York City; depression times.
From Matchbox LP MSE 1013.
Just look how it's rainin', my feet's on the ground Just look how it's rainin', and my poor feet's on the ground For the woman I've made happy, well she's after every man in town Friends please open your door, and don't drive me away Please open your door, and don't drive me away The rent man has put me outdoors, and I've got no place to stay Let me stay here tonight, it's ice all on the ground Let me stay here tonight, it's ice all over the ground Cause I'm motherless and I'm fatherless, and please don't turn me down When I had plenty money, I had friends all over town When I had plenty of money, I had friends all over town But just as soon as I got outdoors, none of my friends could be found After mother and father's gone, a dollar's your right-hand friend After mother and father's gone, dollar's your right-hand friend Then after your last dollar's gone, you're like a road that has no end Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, lord where will I go I'm beggin' you my friend, don't drive me from your door I cannot sleep on the ground, there's nothing but ice and snow
This song was recorded in 1962 for the Bluesville label.
FINE BOOZE AND HEAVY DUES (Lonnie Johnson)
I've got the blues for San Francisco, it's where I long to be
I've got the blues for San Francisco, it's where I long to be
There's a club they call Sugar Hill,
And that's where I long to be
Everybody starts to jumpin', when the clock is strikin' nine
Yes the house starts rockin', when the clock is strikin' nine
There's so many fine chicks walk in the door
Make a single man lose his mind
The name is Sugar Hill Club, it's the home of the natural blues
Name is the Sugar Hill Club, the home of the natural blues
You get nothing but big legged women and the fine booze,
oh Jack and it's heavy dues
She said "Daddy, buy me a drink", she's so fine you can't refuse
Yes she said "Daddy, buy me a drink", she's so fine you can't refuse
Cause it is the home of the blues
Fine women and heavy dues
(Recorded March 10, 1931 in New York City; from Matchbox LP MSE1013). Another bitter blues about women, this time the violent ones from Saint Louis
I love my Saint Louis women, but their ways I really can't stand I love my Saint Louis women, but their ways I really can't stand They always bettin' some woman, how she can take her man My woman dips snuff, and she drinks a good old homemade corn My woman dips her snuff, and she drinks a good old homemade corn She get as drunk as she can be, then she fight for the whole night long And I got another gal, live down on Deep Morgan Street And I got another gal, she lives down on Deep Morgan Street If she don't kill a man every day, all I can do is to keep 'r off of me She drinks her homemade corn whiskey, blackjack and a razor's her friend She drinks her homemade corn whiskey, a blackjack and a razor's her friend And she loves to kill a man, just like the devil loves sin Boys I got another gal, she lives down on Walnut Street Boys I got another gal, she lives down on Walnut Street My other gal is so bad, the cops is scared to walk the beat She can make a blackjack talk and a razor fairly moan She can make a blackjack talk and a razor fairly moan From the way that gal kill up men, the graveyard ain't got much more room
(Recorded February 9, 1932 in New York. From Matchbox LP MSE1013).
Workin' man you better wake up, you've been asleep too long Workin' man you better wake up, you've been asleep too long Nothin' but these pimps and gigolos, that's goin' 'round breakin' up your home You go home sometime and there's no supper, your wife is even cross with you You go home sometime and find no supper, your wife is even cross with you It's just some no-good rat showin' her the place, where she don't need a man like you I've got some friends, supposed to be every good man in town I've got some friends, supposed to be every good man in town Soon as my back is turned, they're tryin' to tear my playhouse down Now some of these married women's so dumb, they don't even know the night from dawn Some of these married women's so dumb, they don't even know the night from dawn But put them chasin' some other woman's man, they got more brains than anybody in town Now some of these married women's so wild, their husbands they can't even understand Some of these married women's so wild, their husbands can't even understand All they think about, is chasin' some other woman's man Now a good woman will say sometime, that every man is just the same A good woman will say sometime, that every man is just the same But men when we look into it, these home-wreckers is just to blame Sometime we give a social party, to make 'em happy as we can Sometime we give a social party, to make 'em happy as we can There will be some no-good woman, to lead your wife to some no-good man
(Recorded on February 9, 1932 in New York; from Matchbox LP MSE1013). A bitter warning to a certain Sam, to keep away from his woman. Lonnie Johnson played piano on this song.
Sam you say you're my friend, but your ways I just don't like Sam you say you're my friend, but your ways I just don't like Soon as I leave my home, you're tryin' to bite me in my back Now Sam you're not my friend, and my home you better stop hangin' 'round Sam you're not my friend, and my home you better stop hangin' 'round Cause I paid for your coffin, and I mean that you're graveyard bound Sam if you want a woman go get one, and let my wife alone Sam if you want a woman go get one, and let my wife alone Cause if I would catch you with my wife, you're hellbound sure as I'm born Sam a real man can't live happy, for no good man like you Sam a real man can't live happy, for no good man like you You're tryin' to wreck my family, and some other man's family too Sam I thought you was my friend, I thought you just was swell Sam I thought you was my friend, I thought you was just too swell Sam I wanna give you a vacation, that's a round-trip ticket to hell
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