Folks, I'm going down to St. James Infirmary
See my baby there,
She's stretched out on a long, withe table,
She's so sweet, so cold, so fair.
Let her go, let her go, oh
Bless her,
Wherever she may be;
She will search this wide world over,
But she'll never find another sweet man
Like me.
Now, when I die bury me in
My straight-leg britches,
Put me on a box-back coat
And a stetson hat,
Put a twenty-dollar gold
Piece on my watch-chain,
So you can let all the boys know I died standing pat.
Then give me six crap-shootin' pall-bearers,
Let a chorus girl sing me a song;
Put a red-hot jazz band at the top of my head
So they can raise
Hallelujah as we go along
Now, Folks, that you have heard my story...
Say, boy, hand me over another shoot of that booze,
If anyone should ask you,
Tell 'em I got those St. James Infirmary Blues.
