Way down in southern West Virginia
Lived a girl they called Imogene
Now old man died
Left for all his money
He was a coal field king
Now Imogene told me
You'll be my husband
I'll dress you in padded leather shoes
Well, hello, good times
So long, Ramlet
Goodbye down and out blues
Now mama she told me
Don't marry for money
She may act just like a queen
She may be rich
But there's always a hitch
She can talk sweet and still be mean
Now buddy I know
Don't you marry for dough
I remember when I didn't have any
I'm telling you son
If you marry my man,
you're gonna burn in hell,
son
Now, Emma Jean,
she never took her hair down
She just loafed around all day
dressed in her slip
Now, I couldn't drink beer
or smoke my cigars
She was so good at crackin' that whip
Now, old Emma Jean's
half Indian and half
And I'm just a coyote howlin'
Cause she's either on the warpath
Or sittin' round the house
Stretched out on her tail
in the growlin'
Now breakfast in bed
ain't so bad for your head
If you're layin' there enjoyin' the slack
But it ain't so much fun if
you're the one carryin'
While she's propped up in the sack
Now, buddy, I know,
don't you marry for dough
You'd be better off with
holes in your shoes
Well, I'm gonna run,
being rich ain't no fun
Hey, just won't you give me back,
just won't you give me
Hey, hey, just won't you give
me back my blues
I'm gonna run, being rich ain't no fun
Hey judge, won't you give me back my blues?