Good Lord, Good Lord, send me an angel down.
Can't spare no angel will spare you a teasin' brow.
Well, that new way of loving, swear to god it must be best.
For these Detroit women won't let Mr. Jack White rest.
There's a crowd on the corner, wonder what could it be?
One thing but the women just trying to get to me.
I went down to the station, suitcase in my hand.
All the women run cryin "Mr. Jack, won't you be my man?"
Well, there was three women, yellow, brown, and black.
Take the mayor of Detroit to pick which one I like.
One of em' hamtramak yellow,
One of em' Detroit brown.
But the Southwest darkskin sure to turn my damper down.
"Why ticket agent, ticket agent, where did my baby go?"
"Tell me what she looks like, I'll tell you what road she's on."
"Well she's a long, tall mama, a mile 1/2 from the ground,
She's a tailor man mama, and she ain't no hand-me-down."
Why I use to say married women, sweetest women ever born,
You better change that theory, better leave married women alone.
Take my advice, let married women, boy, let em' be,
Cause their husband will grab you, beat your ragged ass to Cedar Tree.
I got two women, you can't tell em' apart.
I got one in my bosom, and the other one's in my heart.
Well, that one in my bosom, she live in Tennessee,
But that one in my heart, well, she don't give a darn for me.
I'm a' tell you, pretty mama, exactly who I am,
When I walk in that front door and hear that back door slam.