Robert Johnson in South Rosedale, Mississippi, crossroads of Highways 1 & 8 - 1921

https://soundcloud.com/rc-james/robertjohnson-in-southrosedale?si=4e9f57a314c34d919a55cc4417933e36&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

A beat-up guitar hanging over his shoulder,

tall, lanky Robert Johnson was on his way back

to Helena. A car left him next to the levee on this

full moon night. He thought about Son House

and what he'd said after Robert had picked up

Son's steel guitar and started fiddling with it.

"Put it down, sound like you stranglin' frogs."

Robert meant to prove Son and everybody wrong.

A barrel chested black man, standing by a tree said:

"You wanna play that guitar like

nobody ever played it before, or you wanna go back

to Robinsdville and play harp with Willie Brown."

Robert felt the moon getting hotter than the noonday sun.

A black dog in the ditch was howling and moaning,

causing him to shake and shudder. The dog started

a soulful moan causing the strings o his guitar 

to hum and sing with dark, bluesy chords that possessed

Robert. He looked into the dog's eyes, glowing deep violet,

and he kew he was staring into the eyes of a hellhound.

The man said:

"The dog ain't for sale, but the sound

can be yours, that's the sound of the real delta blues."

"I want that sound."

"It's yours

if you just keep walkin' north, but there's consequences.

You'll be in Rosedale at idnight under a full moon,

and you'll have the blues like nobody has before."

"What's these consequences?"

"My left hand will forever be wrapped around your soul,

other words, your soul belongs to me."

"Step back Devil-Man, I'm goin' to Rosedale, I am the blues.