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Sing me a old down-home song;
Sing to me some blues.
Syncopate the drums, sing loud and long.
Sing to me some blues.
Tell of people, from a homeland ripped,
Packed like sardines, cross the ocean shipped,
Remember to me bodies broken, bloodied and whipped.
Sing to me some blues.

Sing to me a cotton-field song;
Sing to me some blues.
Moan the story of a people done wrong.
Sing to me some blues!
Taken to the block, rubbed down with oil,
Sold like a beast to bear burdens and toil,
Tell how our blood watered King Cotton’s soil.
Sing to me some blues.

Sing me one of them old slave-timey songs;
Sing to me some blues.
The field hands’ chant and the pickers’ moan; 
Sing to me some blues.
How the children were sold while, mother’s did plead,
Of how we were raped and made to bleed,
When dying was just one way to get freed.
Sing to me some blues.

Sing me a work dawn to dark song.
Sing me a little blues.
Make that bass walk like a sharecropper, steady and strong.
Sing me some hardworking blues-
About how the ledger book replaced the chain;
About how the labor was all in vain;
The more debt paid, the more debt gained.
Sing to me some blues.

Sing to me, a freedom flight song.
Sing to me, some blues.
Tell of a cry for freedom so strong!
Sing to me, some blues.
Sing about no longer moving to the back seat.
Sing about sitting at the counter to eat.
Sing of bombs in the churches and dogs in the street.
Sing to me some blues.

Sing to me, my people’s song!
Sing to me some blues!
Sing of the struggle that still goes on
Sing to me, some blues.
Tell me the story of four hundred years,
Tell of the losses, the pain and the fears,
Sing loud of strength forged from suffering and tears.
Sing to me some blues….

Play yo harmonica, son….

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