"Why I Sing The Blues". Written by B.B. King and he sings the shit out of it.
It comes directly from his soul, baby.
"I've laid in a ghetto flat, cold and numb, I heard the rats tell the bedbugs to give the roaches some"
That's hard, man. That is really hard.
"Now Father Time is catching up with me, gone is my youth, I look in the mirror every day, and let it tell me the truth"
Carol and I are proactive about that shit. We covered every mirror in the house in black crepe.
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