Robert Johnson

King of the blues

All shiny shoes and tilted hat

They don't come any hotter that that

He played the tunes of hearts desire

Guitar that smoked unholy fire

Furious notes from flaming fingers

Cracks the summer heat and lingers

Floating on the delta air

Each string a song of dark despair

Did Robert Johnson sell his soul

For music that would make him whole

Beauty style and heavenly grace

May start off in another place

The devils music leaves an odour

Could it be a whiff of soda!