Well folks I'm going down to St. James Infirmary to see my little baby stretched out on a long white table, she looks so good so cold so pale.
Let her go let her go god bless her wherever she may be. She may search this whole wide world over but she'll never find another sweetheart like me.
16 coal black horses to pull that rubber tied hack, it's 17 miles to the graveyard but my baby's never coming back.
When I die bury me in my straight leg breeches, put on a boxcoat and a stetson hat. Put a 20 dollar gold piece on my watch chain so you can let all the boys know I died standing pat.
Then pull apart your bones and put em back together, tell your mama you're somebody new, feel the wind blowing tell everyone look out here it comes and I can say whatever I feel like to you.
And hire me 6 crap-shooting pall-bearers have a chorus girl sing me a song, place a jazz band on my hearse wagon singing hallelujah as we roll along.
Well folks now that you have heard my story, say boy hand me another shot of that rye, and if anyone else should ever ask you just tell em I got some of those St. James Infirmary Blues.