Well, I used to wake the mornin' before the rooster crowed

Searchin' for soda bottles to get myself some dough.

Brought 'em down to the corner, down to the country store. 

Cash 'em in and give my money to a man named Curtis Lowe. 

Old Curt was a black man with white curly hair. 

When he had a fifth of wine he did not have a care. 

He used to own an old dobro, used to play it 'cross his knee. 

I'd give old Curt my money, he'd play all day for me. 

Play me a song Curtis Lowe, Curtis Lowe 

Well I got your drinkin' money, tune up your dobro.

People said he was useless, them people all were fools; 

cause Curtis Lowe was the finest picker to ever play the blues.

He looked to be sixty and maybe I was ten. 

Mama used to whip me but I'd go see him again,

I'd clap my hands, and stomp my feet, try to stay in time. 

He'd play me a song or two, then take another drink of wine. 

Play me a song Curtis Lowe, Curtis Lowe. 

Well I got your drinkin' money tune up your dobro.

People said he was useless them people all were fools;

cause Curtis Lowe was the finest picker to ever play the blues. 

On the day Old Curtis died, nobody came to pray. 

Old preacher said some words and they chucked him in the clay.

Well he lived a lifetime playin' the black man's blues,

and on the day he lost his life that's all he had to lose. 

Play me a song Curtis Lowe, hey Curtis Lowe.

I wish that you was here so everyone would know.

People said he was useless, them people all were fools;

cause Curtis, you're the finest picker to ever play the blues.