Way down in southern West Virginia
Lived a girl they called Imogene
Her old man died
And left her all his money
He was a coal field king
Now Imogene told me
If you'll be my husband
I'll dress you in patent leather shoes
Well, hello, good times
So long, rambling
Goodbye, down and out blues
Now mama, she told me
Don't marry for money
She may act just like a queen
She may be rich
But there's always a hitch
She can talk sweet and still be mean
Now, buddy, I know
Don't you marry for dough
I remember when I didn't have any
I'm telling you, son
If you marry for mon
You're gonna earn every penny
Oh, son
Now Imogene she never took her hair down
She just loafed around all day
Dressed in her slip
I couldn't drink beer
Or smoke my cigars
She was so good at cracking that whip
Now old Imogene half Indian and half bulldog
And I'm just a coyote howling
Cause she's either on the warpath
Or sitting round the house
Stretched on her tail end a growling
Now breakfast in bed
Ain't so bad for your head
If you're laying there enjoying the snack
But it ain't so much fun
If you're the one carrying
While she's propped up in the sack
Now, buddy, I know
Don't you marry for dough
You'd be better off
With holes in your shoes
Well, I'm gonna run
Being rich ain't no fun
Hey, judge, won't you gimme back?
Judge, won't you gimme?
Hey, hey, judge, won't you gimme back my blues?
Well, I'm gonna run
Being rich ain't no fun
Hey, judge, won't you gimme back my blues?