St. James Infirmary Blues
I went down to old Joe's bar-room,
Down on the corner by the square,
They were serving the drinks as usual,
The usual crowd was there.
On my left stood Joe MacKennedy,
His eyes were bloodshot red.
He turned to the crowd around him,
And these are the words he said;
I went up to see the doctor,
'She's very low', he said.
I went back to see my baby,
And good God she was laying there dead.
I went down to St. James Infirmary,
Saw my baby there,
Stretched out on a long white table,
So sweet, so cold, so fair.
Let her go, let her go, God bless her,
Wherever she may be,
She may search this wide world over,
But she'll never find a man like me.
When I die, I want you to bury me in straight lace shoes,
Box-back coat and a Stetson hat,
Put a twenty dollar gold piece on my watch chain,
So the boys will know that I died standing pat.
Get sixteen coal black horses,
To pull that rubber tired hack,
There's thirteen men going to the graveyard,
But only twelve are coming back.
Get six crap shootin' gamblers to carry my coffin,
Six chorus girls to sing me a song,
Put a hot jazz band on my tailgate,
To raise hell as we roll along.
This is the end of my story,
So let's have another round of booze,
And if anyone should ask, you tell them,
I've got the St. James Infirmary Blues.
