Song To J.C.B.

Oh, listen to my story, and I’ll tell you 'bout my friend
Plays the best harmonica, and I love him 'til the end
He’s travelled all the highways from New York to Vancouver Bay
Born in a Georgia shack, he’s in San Francisco today
So listen to what I say
Oh, who’s that man singin' that song?
Who’s that man singin' that song?
Who’s that man? Tell me who’s that man?
Think it’s J.C., and everybody sing along
Well, J.C. is sittin' out there on Grand Street
Ain’t got much money, and he ain’t got much to eat
Well, all you rich people passin' by his feet
You make J.C. so sad sometime that he don’t know how to sleep
I remember them lonely nights, we’d sit and hear J.C. play
Fruze and m and Godfrey all a-crouched in a somethin' blu way
Laughin' and cryin' and a-stompin' our feet
'Til the landlord said, «Move on! Get out! My children are asleep!»