Hey Mama, My Time Ain’t Long - Ray Wylie Hubbard

Children let me tell you 'bout the songs the bluesmen sings

Comes from a woman’s moans and the squeaks of guitar strings

Some say it’s the devil jingling the coins in his pockets

I say it sounds more like a pistol when you cock it

Hey, mama, I believe my time ain’t long

Hey, mama, I believe my time ain’t long

Ah children let me tell you about the songs the angels sing

In the alleys of heaven with regret and broken wings

Some sing about the holy, pray and bow their heads

Some sing smokestack lightnin' and light up Marlborough reds

Hey, mama, I believe my time ain’t long

Hey, mama, I believe my time ain’t long

Now there’s tramps in Paris dressed in Brussels lace

And sailors in Baltimore who have fallen from grace

And there’s some shovels and rope that’ll never get clean

And there’s the faithful singing sister morphine

Hey, mama, I believe my time ain’t long

Hey, mama, I believe my time ain’t long

Hey, mama, I believe my time ain’t long

Hey, mama, I believe my time ain’t long