Al Cook - TAXMAN ON MY TRAIL

TAXMAN ON MY TRAIL

I got a letter one mornin'

Brought misery to my head.

It was The Board Of Taxes,

That made me feel so bad.

And I stood up in my room,

Hands fold up and cryin'.

The taxman's on my trail,

And I'm almost dyin'.

Hey, Mr. Taxman,

Leave me a last bottom dime.


You're takin' off my workin' dollar,

And I can't feed that gal of mine.

I was standin' on the corner,

Almost bust my head.

I did'nt make 'nuff money,

Can't even buy a loaf of bread.

I'm broke and hungry,

Look so awful in my rags.

Cause ev'rytime I make a dollar,

Your hands are in my bag.