Folks,  I＇m  goin＇  down  to  St.  James  Infirmary,

See  my  baby  there;

She＇s  stretched  out  on  a  long,  white  table,

She＇s  so  sweet,  so  cold,  so  fair.

Let  her  go,  let  her  go,  God  bless  her,

Wherever  she  may  be,

She  will  search  this  wide  world  over,

But  she＇ll  never  find  another  sweet  man  like  me.

Now,  when  I  die,  bury  me  in  my  straight-leg  britches,

Put  on  a  box-back  coat  and  a  stetson  hat,

Put  a  twenty-dollar  gold  piece  on  my  watch  chain,

So  you  can  let  all  the  boys  know  I  died  standing  pat.

An＇  give  me  six  crap  shooting  pall  bearers,

Let  a  chorus  girl  sing  me  a  song.

Put  a  red  hot  jazz  band  at  the  top  of  my  head

So  we  can  raise  Hallelujah  as  we  go  along.

Folks,  now  that  you  have  heard  my  story,

Say,  boy,  hand  me  another  shot  of  that  booze;

If  anyone  should  ask  you,

Tell  ＇em  I＇ve  got  those  St.  James  Infirmary  blues.