The Blues of the French

His father was a street wasted junkie
His mother a whore without any teeth
In Memphis he played the blues
And Booker T listened to him every Friday, in a crummy bar, in a crummy street
The police wanted to throw him in jail
Elvis wanted to slit his throat open
But the town of Memphis protected him
In love, and drugs that fucked his inner-self
Or whatever was left of his brain
Jake sang, Elwood sang
The French guy only played the blues
Even his eyes were blue
Even his nails were blue
What a wasted life, what a dying bastard
For so long he played, for so long he burned in self inflicted torment
'Till finally came the day
In which he complicated the blues
And pissed all over his father's face
Mother screamed, mother was a whore
So why the fuck do we care for this story?