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Roofer’s Blues
Luke Bell
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🇬🇧 English · Original
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Lyrics
Original
Translation
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I'd drive ten thousand nails a day
Won't you give or take a few
I clinch the tips between my lips
And hammer as I move
I'm rawhide wound round iron bones and wired tights and youth
I might only stop to roll a smoke
And sing the roofer's blues
Oh, lord, would you let it rain
A whole bunch of money
I wouldn't mind retiring in my youth
But, oh lord, if it kills me
And I rise up to your skies
Please don't put me on your golden roof
I been to Austin and New Orleans boy
Both them suns is hot
Old Austins full of hippies, pretty girls, and old big shots
I keep me a 38 Special
Tucked between my seats
Cause you never know what's to be got
When you're down in New Orleans
Oh lord would you let it rain
A whole bunch of money
I wouldn't mind retiring in my youth
But oh lord if it kills me
And I rise up to your skies
Please don't put me on your golden roof
I been out on the shingle
Since I could barely walk
And walk I do, right up the eves
Lord, I don't stop to talk
You can see my shoulders shadow
Against the sun and moon
I might only stop to roll a smoke
And sing the roofer's blues
Oh lord would you let it rain
A whole bunch of money
I wouldn't mind retiring in my youth
But oh lord if it kills me
And I rise up to your skies
Please don't put me on your golden roof
I said please don't put me on your golden roof