A while back I posted Martin's Nicotine Blues.

Nicotine Blues, by Martin Winsor (about 1960)

I wake up in the morning no damn good
I lie there in the bed just like a block of wood
I fumble for the matches, light that morning fag
There ain't nothing like that first sweet drag

Chorus
Nicotine, nicotine
I'm just a slave to that nicotine
You can keep your liquor and your Benzedrine
I'm just a slave to that nicotine

About every hour or so I get that yen
Gotta stop everything and have a smoke again
Looks like I was born the type
That just lays around and smokes my pipe

Some folks like that old Virginia grown
Smoke tailor-mades or they roll their own
You can do what you like to that Indian weed
Me, I would even chew the seed

Don't go much on that old opium
Hashish only leaves me feeling numb
But if you want to see me swing on a star
Feed me up with a fat cigar

Every night before I go to bed
A certain thought passes through my head
I know it's no use my counting sheep
If I don't have a smoke I just can't sleep.


I can't remember where I got this from, but I noted it down about 1961.


Phil