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Bob McCobb

 

Bob McCobb

played local that night

above his ol’ home in the sky

 

on a concertina

he named Sweet Rita

‘cause he missed her kisses and pie

 

That damn ol’ sickness

had worked it’s wickness

and rotted it’s way to his breather

 

no hope or potion

no hand from god

no goodbye when he had to leave her

 

So a visit for a spell

to see that she’s well

in this beautiful mess gone wrong

 

he sits in the trees

gently blowing the breeze

hoping that she hears his song

 

 

and devil the days that fate would rob

from our lonesome lover

Bob McCobb