for James Booker, my newborn son Booker James,
my friend Charlie Dahan, and the poor people of New Orleans
may we all play Scrabble with the freaks


The James Booker Drowning Black Mystery Blues


Booker, James, in nineteen hundred eighty three,
he and his heart died of a busted levee.

Lovin' that girl of his, shoulda been him.
Drivin that Cadillac under wine dark london avenue river
deep under rolling london avenue sea
drunk on drinkin' wine swollen liver and heroin

who were his friends
where were they
he's sinking into a wheelchair
sinking deep down under Charity way

Old James won't you pass that bottle to me
can't you see my heart's dying of a busted levee

I saw James Booker down there
down at the bottom of streets so blue
I saw that eye looking up from the depths
from the corpse rolling riverbed of Florida Avenue

Booker James James Booker
you scare me don't you know
when you look at me
don't you know you scare me
when you look at me
deep down from the bottom
Black Ponchartrain Mystery

For a man to drown himself once
that's called suicide
but to drown him again man
mother nature's shootin' up some pesticide

Some things haunt me in the country,
Some things in the middle of town,
Some things well up like a great ocean
I wake up in the river and then I drown

James Booker, goodnight, lost broken, goodnight
Goodnight, Katrine, goodnight, New Orleans
I hope we all get you in our dreams

Booker, James, in nineteen hundred eighty three,
he and his heart died of a busted levee.

I saw James Booker down there
down at the bottom of streets so blue
I saw that eye looking up from the depths
from the corpse rolling riverbed of Florida Avenue

Booker James James Booker
you scare me don't you know
when you look at me
don't you know you scare me
when you look at me
deep down from the bottom
Black Ponchartrain Mystery

Old James won't you pass that bottle to me
I'm scared my heart's dying of a busted levee

Old James won't you pass that bottle to me
you can see my heart's dying of a busted levee
Dying since nineteen hundred eighty three.
Dying of a Black Ponchartrain Mystery.
James Booker, goodnight, lost broken, goodnight
Goodnight, Katrine, goodnight, New Orleans
Goodnight to my friends dead without a fight
I hope we all get you in our dreams