He would recount the stories he had learned so well Fourteen years is a long time in one cell When the pipe is passed the opium does its rounds Papa Legba sitting pretty in a chicken little town
His textured skin, like leather in the sun Fingers beating hard upon a native drum He picks his teeth with a splintered back rib bone Papa Legba bears his fangs and lays alone
Hey Papa Legba, hoo-boo-be-do Hey Papa Legba, no one gonna bother you Hey Papa Legba, hoo-boo-be-do Shake Papa Legba, no one’s gonna bother you tonight, alright
He was free to dance alone where the spirits run His almond eyes would twinkle on a hundred sons His champagne toast and white meat on a spit Papa Legba’s drunken with a smile upon his lips
Some punk with a shotgun killed young Danny Bailey In cold blood, in the lobby of a downtown motel Killed him in anger, a force he couldn’t handle Helped pull the trigger that cut short his life And there’s not many knew him the way that we did Sure enough he was a wild one, but then aren’t most hungry kids
Now it’s all over Danny Bailey And the harvest is in Dillinger’s dead I guess the cops won again Now it’s all over Danny Bailey And the harvest is in
We’re running short of heroes back up here in the hills Without Danny Bailey we’re gonna have to break up our stills So mark his grave well `cause Kentucky loved him Born and raised a proper, I guess life just bugged him And he found faith in danger, a lifestyle he lived by A running gun youngster in a sad restless age
