I used to play blues quite a bit in my youth, but I learned a style mostly from piano players like Bob Bannard (who was a Jimmy Yancey fan), and Capt. Bill Peterson. This is basically the version that Leadbelly sang, but the hurry-up guitar is not very Leadbelly at all. (Dedicated to Emily Friedman.)
Duncan, Duncan was tending the bar;
In walks Brady with a shining star.
He says, "Mr. Duncan, you are under arrest."
And Duncan shot a hole in Brady's breast.
Brady carried a forty-five;
They said it would shoot a half-a-mile.
Duncan carried a forty-four,
And that's what laid Mr. Brady so low.
Brady fell down on the barroom floor;
"Please Mr. Duncan, don't you shoot me no more."
Women all crying, ain't it a shame,
Shot King Brady, going to shoot him again.
"Mr. Brady, Mr. Brady, you know you done wrong,
You busted in my parlor when the game was going on,
Knocking down the tables, breaking down the doors,
Now you dripping blood on my barroom floor."
Well, the women all heard Brady was dead,
They go back home and they dressed in red.
Sniffing and sighing down the street,
In their big Mother Hubbards and their stocking feet.