The Blues - The Sound Of A

I Hate To See The Evening Sun Go Down.

I Knew The Whistle Of Each Of The River Boats On The Tennessee.

A Lean, Loose-jointed Negro Had Commenced Plunking A Guitar Beside Me While I Slept. His Clothes Were Rags; His Feet Peeped Out Of His Shoes. His Face Had On It Some Of The Sadness Of The Ages. As He Played, He Pressed A Knife On The Strings Of The Guitar In A Manner Popularized By Hawaiian Guitarists Who Used Steel Bars. The Effect Was Unforgettable.

Sometimes I Feel Like Nothin,' Somethin' Throwed Away, Somethin' Throwed Away. And Then I Get My Guitar, Play The Blues All Day.

In The South Of Long Ago Whenever A New Man Appeared For Work In Any Of The Laborers Gangs, He Would Be Asked If He Could Sing. If He Could He Got The Job. The Singing Of These Working Men Set The Rhythm For The Work.