Guy Clark has written a number of talking blues songs. Here is one more. (Choosing a recent live recording - older and more polished recordings on youtube also.)

LET HIM ROLL
Words and music by Guy Clark
As recorded by Guy Clark on "Old No. 1" (1975)

Now, he was a wino, tried and true.
Done about everything there is to do.
He worked on freighters, an' he'd worked in bars.
He worked on farms, an' he'd worked on cars.

It was white port that put that look in his eye,
Grown men get when they need to cry.
We sat down on the curb to rest,
And his head just fell down on his chest.

He says: "Every single day it gets,
Just a little bit harder to handle and yet--"
Then he lost the thread and his mind got cluttered,
And the words just rolled off down the gutter.

Well, he was elevator man in a cheap hotel,
In exchange for the rent on a one-room cell.
An' he's old in years beyond his time,
No thanks to the world, and the white port wine.

So he says: "Son." He always called me son.
He said: "Life for you has just begun."
An' then he told me the story that I'd heard before
How he fell in love with a Dallas whore.

Well, he could cut through the years to the very night
That it ended in a whorehouse fight.
And she turned his last proposal down,
In favor of being a girl about town.

Now it's been seventeen years, right in line,
He ain't been straight in none of the time.
It's too many days of fightin' the weather,
An' too many nights of not being together.
So he died.

[Instrumental break.]

An' when they went through his personal effects,
In among the stubs from the welfare checks,
Was a crumblin' picture of a girl in a door,
And an address in Dallas and nothing more.

An' the welfare people provided the priest.
A couple from the mission down the street,
Sang "Amazing Grace", and no one cried,
'Cept some lady in black, way off to the side.

We all left and she's standing there,
A black veil covering her silver hair.
Ol' One-Eyed John said her name was Alice,
An' she used to be a whore in Dallas.

So let him roar, Lord, let him roll,
I bet he's gone to Dallas, rest his soul.
Just let him roll, Lord, let him roar,
He always said that heaven was just a Dallas whore.
Let him roar, Lord, let him roll.
I bet he's gone to Dallas, rest his soul.

[This has been covered by Johnny Cash, Townes Van Zandt, and Bobby Bare.]