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