Bline Lemon Jefferson is a-coming.  Tap tap tappin with his cane.  Bline Lemon Jefferson is a-coming.  Tap tap tappin with his cane.  His last ditch lies down the road of trials  Half filled with rain.  O Sycamore, Sycamore!  Stretch your arms across the storm.  Down fly two greasy brother-crows  They hop'n'bop hop'n'bop hop'n'bop  Like the tax-man come to call.  They go knock knock! Knock knock!  Hop'n'bop hop'n'bop  They slap a death-writ on his door.  Here come the Judgement train  Git on board!  And turn that big black engine home.  O let's roll!  Let's roll!  Down the tunnel.  The terrible tunnel of his world.  Waiting at his final station  Like a bigger blacker third bird.  O let's roll!  Let's roll!  O his road is dark and lonely.  He don't drive no Cadillac.  O his road is dark and holy.  He don't drive no cadillac.  If that sky serves as his eyes  Then that moons a cataract.  Let's roll!  Yeah let's roll!  (Ad lib)