The Dying Crapshooter Blues by Moriarty Lyrics
Little Jesse was a gambler, night and day
And he used crooked cards and dice
He was a son of guy, good hearted but he had no soul
Jesse's heart was hard and cold like ice
Jesse was a wild reckless gambler
He won a gang of change
Altho' a many gambler's heart he led in pain
Jesse began to spend and loose his money
He began to be blue, sad and all alone
What broke Jesse's heart while he was blue and all alone
Sweet Lorena packed up and gone
And the police walked up and they shot my friend Jesse down, boy
He got to die someday
Copy paste is a sin, always on the run is better
He had a gang, gang and gamblers at his bedside
And here are the words he had to say
I guess I ought to know
Exactly how I want to go
(How you wanna go, Jesse?)
Eight crapshooters to be my pallbearers
Let 'em be veiled down in black
I want nine men going to the graveyard, buddy
I want eight men coming back
I want a gang of gamblers gathered 'round my coffin-side
Crooked card printed on my hearse
My life has been a doggone curse
Well, well, well, well
Send poker players to the graveyard, buddy
Dig my grave with the ace of spades
I want twelve polices in my funeral march
High sheriff playin' blackjack, lead the parade
I want the judge and solic'ter who jailed me fourty times
Put a pair of dice in my shoes, what else
Let a deck of cards be my tombstone, buddy
I got the dying crapshooter
Sixteen real good crapshooters
Sixteen bootleggers to sing a song
I want sixteen racket men gamblin'
Couple tend bar while I'm rollin' along
He wanted twenty two womens outta the Hampton Hotel
He wanted twenty six off-a South Bell
He wanted twenty nine women outta North Atlanta
Know little Jesse didn't pass out so swell
Well his heart was aching and his head was thumping
Little Jesse went down bouncin' and jumpin'
Folks, don't be standing 'round ol' Jesse dying
He wants everybody to do the Charleston whiles he gone
One foot up, and a toenail dragging
Throw my friend Jesse in the hoodoo wagon
Come here mama with that can of booze
I got the dyin’ crapshooter's, blues
The dyin’ crapshooter's blues
The dyin’ crapshooter
And he used crooked cards and dice
He was a son of guy, good hearted but he had no soul
Jesse's heart was hard and cold like ice
Jesse was a wild reckless gambler
He won a gang of change
Altho' a many gambler's heart he led in pain
Jesse began to spend and loose his money
He began to be blue, sad and all alone
What broke Jesse's heart while he was blue and all alone
Sweet Lorena packed up and gone
And the police walked up and they shot my friend Jesse down, boy
He got to die someday
Copy paste is a sin, always on the run is better
He had a gang, gang and gamblers at his bedside
And here are the words he had to say
I guess I ought to know
Exactly how I want to go
(How you wanna go, Jesse?)
Eight crapshooters to be my pallbearers
Let 'em be veiled down in black
I want nine men going to the graveyard, buddy
I want eight men coming back
I want a gang of gamblers gathered 'round my coffin-side
Crooked card printed on my hearse
My life has been a doggone curse
Well, well, well, well
Send poker players to the graveyard, buddy
Dig my grave with the ace of spades
I want twelve polices in my funeral march
High sheriff playin' blackjack, lead the parade
I want the judge and solic'ter who jailed me fourty times
Put a pair of dice in my shoes, what else
Let a deck of cards be my tombstone, buddy
I got the dying crapshooter
Sixteen real good crapshooters
Sixteen bootleggers to sing a song
I want sixteen racket men gamblin'
Couple tend bar while I'm rollin' along
He wanted twenty two womens outta the Hampton Hotel
He wanted twenty six off-a South Bell
He wanted twenty nine women outta North Atlanta
Know little Jesse didn't pass out so swell
Well his heart was aching and his head was thumping
Little Jesse went down bouncin' and jumpin'
Folks, don't be standing 'round ol' Jesse dying
He wants everybody to do the Charleston whiles he gone
One foot up, and a toenail dragging
Throw my friend Jesse in the hoodoo wagon
Come here mama with that can of booze
I got the dyin’ crapshooter's, blues
The dyin’ crapshooter's blues
The dyin’ crapshooter