Poem written from inspirations of living in the South, my passion for The Delta Blues and a deep fondness for Robert Johnson….
He grew up in the land of cotton, his story is one that’s not easily forgotten,
Dreamin’ of the day he’d leave the plantation, whiskey and women led him to temptation.
His lyrics and music struck a chord, from a $12 guitar the he could barely afford,
Learned to play on 3 nails and 3 strings of wire, whiskey and women set his heart on fire.
In the evenin’ time he’d sing in juke joints, men were jealous and women scored points,
He should’ve known it would harm him one day, whiskey and women made him stray.
Haunted by demons and his restless goals, the blues led him to the crossroads of his soul,
Singin’ his devil tunes was part of his fame, whiskey and women cause him to love in vain.
He spent much of his life travelin’ riverside, goin’ town to town putting his past aside,
The guitar he picked up helped him survive, whiskey and women allowed him to thrive.
But one summer evenin’ four till late, The King of Delta Blues met his horrible fate,
A jealous man and a hell-hound on his trail, his end a mystery no one knows the true tale.
His legacy and songs, they’re still red hot, everyone wants to be like him but they’re not,
The Stones to Eric, and Muddy too, all picking Ramblin’ on my mind and Terraplane blues.
I can hear Mr. Johnson sittin’ on his blue cloud, strummin’ tunes to angelic crowds,
If he had possession over Judgement Day, whiskey and women would all have hell to pay!
Lizb2c 