Текст Woody Guthrie – Poor Boy

My mother called me to her bedside
These words she said to me
If you don’t quit you ramblin’ ways
They’re gonna get you in the penitentiary

Gonna get you in the penitentiary, poor boy
Gonna get you in the penitentiary
If you don’t quit your reckless ways
They’re gonna get you in the penitentiary

So I set myself down in a gamblin’ game
And I could not play my hand
Thinkin’ about that women I loved
Who run away with another man

Run away with another man, poor boy
Run away with another man
Just thinkin’ about that woman I loved
Who runs away with another man

The cards come around the table, Lord
And I had such a worried mind
My stack of gold dollars I wasted away
And I lost about ninety-nine

I lost about ninety-nine, poor boy
I lost about ninety-nine
My stack of gold dollars I wasted away
And I lost about ninety-nine

It wasn’t very long till I seen him again
He run away and left her behind
And I laid him down with my old forty-four
And the judge gave me ninety-nine

Well, the judge gave me ninty-nine, poor boy
And he give me ninety-nine

Well, the jury said that I had to pay
And the clerk he wrote it down