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