I used to wake the mornin' before that rooster crowed Searchin' for soda bottles to give myself some dough Brought them down to the corner, yeah, down to that country store Cash them in and give my money to a man named Curtis Lowe Old Curt was a black man, had white, curly hair When he had a fifth of wine, you know he did not have a care He used to own an old dobro, used to lay across his knee I'd give old Curt my money, he'd play all day for me Play me a song, Curtis Lowe, Curtis Lowe I got your drink and money, tune up your dobro People said he was a useless, but them people are all fools Cause Curtis Lowe was the finest picker to ever play the blues Yeah, he lived to be sixty, and baby I was just about ten Yeah, my mama used to whoop me, but I'd go see him again I'd clap my hands and stomp my feet again, and try to keep the time Well, he'd play me a song or two, and then he'd take another drink of that muscadine wine Play me a song, Curtis Lowe, Curtis Lowe I got your drink and money, tune up your dobro People said he was a useless, but them people are all fools Cause Curtis Lowe was the finest picker to ever play the blues Oh, play them blues Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, yeah Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, yeah And on the day, oh Curtis died, nobody came to pray Oh, preacher just said some words and we chucked him in a clay He lived a lifetime playing them black man's blues And on the day he lost his life, well that's all he had to lose Play me a song, Curtis Lowe, Curtis Lowe I wish that you was here so everyone would know People said he was a useless, but them people are all fools Cause Curtis, you're the finest picker to ever play the blues Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, yeah