St. James Infirmary
I went down to St. James Infirmary.
I saw my Sweeheart there.
Lying on a table,
So cold, so white, so fair.
I went up to see the doctor.
``She's very low'' he said.
I went back to see my baby
And great God she was lying there dead
I went down to old Joe's bar room.
Down on the corner by the square.
They were serving drinks as usual
And the usual crowd was there.
On my left stood Joe MacKennedy.
His eyes were bloodshot red.
He turned to the crowd around him
And these were the words he said.
Let her go. Let her go, God bless her.
Where ever she may be.
She may search this wide world over
But she'll never find another man like me.
When I die please bury me
In a high top stetson hat.
Put a gold piece on my watch chain,
So the boys will know I died standing pat.
Get six gambelers to carry my coffin.
Six chorus girls to sing my song.
Put a jazz band on my tail gate
To raise hell as we roll along.
This is the end of my story
So let's have another round of booze.
And if anyone should ask you just tell them
I've got the St. James Infirmary blues.
Robert P. O'Shea
Center for Cognitive Neuroscience, Dartmouth College, Hanover,
NH 03784, USA; phone: +1 (603) 646 0042; fax: +1 (603) 646 1181.