With the assistance of an unnamed Guest. Unavailable elsewhere on the Web, it seems. My version is undated, likely the 1926 version. She also recorded variations and sequels later. Yours, Peter T.


T B BLUES - Victoria Spivey

Too late, too late, too late, too late, too late,
It's too late, too late, too late, too late.
Well, I'm on my way to Denver and, Mama, must I hesitate?

TB's all right to have if your friends didn't treat you so low down.
TB's all right to have if your friends didn't treat you so low down.
Don't you ask 'em for no favors. They even stop coming around.

Mmm... TB's killing me.
Mmm... TB's killing me.
I'm like a prisoner, always wishing he's free.

When I was up on my feet, I could not walk down the street,
For the mens lookin' at me, from my head to my feet,
But, ohhh, now, the TB's killing me,
I want my body buried, in the deep blue sea.

Mmm...
Mmm...
The tuberculosis, the consumption's killing me.