E'er since Miss Susan Johnson lost her Jockey, Lee|
There has been much excitement, more to be;
You can hear her moaning night and morn.
Wonder where my Easy Rider's gone?
Cablegrams come of sympathy
Telegrams go of inquiry
Letters come from down in "Bam"
And everywhere that Uncle Sam
Has even a rural delivery.
All day the phone rings
But it's not for me,
At last good tidings
Fill our hearts with glee,
This message comes from Tennessee.
|: Dear Sue your Easy Rider struck this burg today
On a south bound rattler side door Pullman car
Seen him there an' he was on the hog.
(The smoke was broke, no joke,
Not a Jitney on him)
Easy rider's got a stay away
So he had to vamp it but the hike ain't far.
He's gone where the Southern 'cross' the Yellow Dog. :|
I know the Yellow Dog District like a book,
Indeed I know the route that rider took
Every cross-tie, Bayou, burg and bog.
Way down where the Southern cross' the Dog,
Money don't zactly grow on trees
On cotton stalks it grows with ease;
No race horse, race track, no grandstand
Is like Old Beck an Buck shot land,
Down where the Southern cross' the Dog.
Every kitchen there is a cabaret
Down there the Boll Weevil works
While the darkies play
This Yellow Dog Blues
The live long day.