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Aparece en la discografía de

Johnny Hart


Versión de Woody Guthrie
Johnny Hart, he was a desperate little man
hell raisin' ran a pistol every day
cut down a man on a free state line
should've seen Johnny Hart gettin' away, oh Lord,
see Johnny Hart gettin' away

Johnny Hart made a run for the free state line
there he thought he'd be free
man came walkin' and grabbed him by the arm
he said, "Johnny come along with me, ol' boy,
Johnny come along with me"

Johnny Hart, he wrote his mom and dad
sayin, come here and go my bail
but money won't go his murder charge
they lay Johnny Hart back in jail, oh Lord
they lay Johnny Hart back in jail

Now the first one to visit Johnny Hart in jail
was a girl with a rag on her head
said, "I never thought I'd see you in that jail,
I believe I'd rather see you dead, Johnny Hart,
I believe I'd rather see you dead"

Now the next one to visit Johnny Hart in jail
was his lovely wife, she was so brave
said, "I'd rather see you in your windin' sheets
than see you on a long rattlin' chain, dear god,
see you on a long rattlin' chain"

Johnny Hart he stood in his jail cell
and a tear ran down his eye
there'd been the death of many deadly sheriff
six gone and he's never told a lie, no Lord,
six gone and he's never told a lie

Well I've run to the east, I've run to the west
I've run just as far as I can
If I ever get loose from this ball and chain
I'm gonna make it to the free state line, dear God,
make it to the free state line

You've got guards to the east and guards to the west
You've got guards this whole world round
but before I'll be a slave I'll rot in your bed
You can take me to my hangin' ground, mister jail,
take me to my hangin' ground

(1961)






 
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HOY DESTACAMOS
Óbito

el 22/11/2022

Pablo Milanés, uno de los más importantes trovadores de los últimos años, ha fallecido esta noche a los 79 años, tras permanecer ingresado en Madrid durante más de una semana, informaron medios oficiales.

HOY EN PORTADA
Óbito

por Frank Carlos Nájera el 22/11/2022

En las noches tristes, escribo. Dormir no apetece ni apremia. La tristeza se canaliza y empieza a formar palabras, y las palabras se me venden como necesarias, y yo las compro y las consumo creyendo que las voy creando. Nunca he sido fumador. Fumo palabras y entre el humo de las noticias voy rodeando la imagen de un rostro muy familiar.

 



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