199. Seite / page: download pdf
Dieses Volkslied aus den USA hat sich, dank Louis Armstrong (Satchmo), zum Jazzstandard entwickelt.
St. James infirmary
I was down in old Joes barroom,
On the corner by the square.
Yes, the drinks were served as usual
And the usual crowd was there.
On my left stood Joe McKenny,
His eyes were bloodshot red.
He turned to the crowd around him,
These are the words he said:
I went down to St. James infirmary
To see my baby there.
She was stretched out on a long white table,
So cold, so pale and fair.
I went up to see the doctor,
"She 's very low," he said.
I went back to see my baby,
Great God! She was lyin' there dead.
Let her go, let her go, God bless her,
Wherever she may be.
She may search this wild world over,
She 'll never find a man like me.
Oh, when I die, please bury me
In my high-top Stetson hat,
Put a gold piece on my watch chain,
So they 'll know I died standin' pat.
Get six gamblers to carry my coffin,
Six chorus girls to sing my song,
Put a jazz band on my tail gate
To raise hell as we go along.
Now that 's the end of my story,
Let 's have another round of booze,
And if anyone should ask you, just tell them
I 've got the St. James infirmary blues.