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Lyric provided by www.seekalyric.com |
Mister, won't you lend a poor dime a cripple? I'm about a thousand dollars from my home. Ain't got no mile in my pocket, no head to poke my hole through, And I don't know where I'll die when I go to. I have tried living in the valley and working at the mill - I like bootlegging better, running whiskey through these hills. Now I'm back down from the mountain, and living on the bum. If you've got change for five dollars, why don't you give me some? Mister, won't you lend a poor dime a cripple? I'm about a thousand dollars from my home. Ain't got no mile in my pocket, no head to poke my hole through, And I don't know where I'll die when I go to. Hey, I could play in your theater, local church or corner bar - Long as there's fun and money, I ain't too particular. I can sing and dance and whistle, turn cartwheels through the air, And if I get too tight to stand upright, just tie me to a chair. Mister, won't you lend a poor dime a cripple? I'm about a thousand dollars from my home. Ain't got no mile in my pocket, no head to poke my hole through, And I don't know where I'll die when I go to. Now when this song is over, gonna pass around my hat - So won't you reach down deep inside - Hey, quiet in the back! Did you come to talk or listen, folks? Now everybody hush! 'Cause when I hit that high note, I can make a statue blush. |