Lord, it was January eleven, Lord, it was nineteen-hundred and forty-nine Lord, it was January eleven, Lord, it was nineteen-hundred and forty-nine My woman left me, I declare, was almost blind I said, I love my baby, but my baby won't behave I says, I love my baby, but my baby won't behave Spoken: What you gonna do, Luther? I'm gonna get me a hard-shootin' pistol, Lord, and put her down in her grave Spoken: Play the blues