Lowdown Lovesick Blues

That gal would look good in a croaker sack,
But all she think is new clothes on her back.

When I give her the eye like I'm wantin' to:
"Which look better," she ask, "green or the blue?"

And when I'm gone in those eyes and those lips,
She's tellin' me pleats won't do on her hips.

I think I've lost my baby to clothes not booze—
Tell me which one's worse for the lovesick blues.

Come around Baby, come out of that store,
Just turn the handle and open my door.

Catalogues be the devil, that's what they are—
Let me be your wishbone, I be your star.

Only you kow how you mess with my mind—
Gal, that mirror tell you don't be unkind.

I'm suffering, Baby, come lie by my side.
Bring that old mischief, I got no more pride.

We ain't got all night and that ain't news—
You know how to cure these lovesick blues.