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!