I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees
I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees
Asked the Lord above "Have mercy, now save poor Bob, if you
please"
Yeoo, standin' at the crossroad, tried to
flag a ride
Ooo eeee, I tried to flag a ride
Didn't nobody seem to know me, babe, everybody pass me by
Standin' at the crossroad, baby, risin' sun goin' down
Standin' at the crossroad, baby, eee, eee, risin' sun goin' down
I believe to my soul, now, poor Bob is sinkin' down
You can run, you can run, tell my friend Willie Brown1
You can run, you can run, tell my friend Willie Brown1
That I got the crossroad blues this mornin', Lord, babe, I'm sinkin'
down
And I went to the crossroad, mama, I looked east and west
I went to the crossroad, baby, I looked east and west
Lord, I didn't have no sweet woman, ooh well, babe, in my
distress
In the Delta of the
Mississippi River, where Robert Johnson was born, they said that
if an aspiring bluesman waited by the side of a deserted country
crossroads in the dark of a moonless night, then Satan himself might
come and tune his guitar, sealing a pact for the bluesman's soul and
guaranteeing a lifetime of easy money, women, and fame. They said
that Robert Johnson must have waited by the crossroads and gotten his
guitar fine-tuned.