Done by many, I like Johnny Winter's version. Has more soul than Clapton's version IMHO.
Written by Eddie Boyd, Willie Dixon
Got me accused of peeping,
I can't see a thing.
Got me accused of petting,
I can't even raise my hand.
Bad luck,
Bad luck is killing me.
Well I just can't stand no more of this third degree.
Got me accused of murder,
I ain't harmed a man.
Got me accused of forgery,
I can't even write my name.
Bad luck,
Bad luck is killing me.
Well I just can't stand no more of this third degree.
Got me accused of taxes,
I ain't got a dime.
Got me accused of children
And ain't nary one of them was mine.
Bad luck,
Bad luck is killing me.
Well I just can't stand no more of this third degree.
A little history of the man on your great Australian ( the state of Victoria ) where your wine was produced.
JOHN BOYLE O’REILLY
“Only those who have stood within the bars and heard the din of devils and the appalling sounds of despair… can imagine the horrors of the hold of a convict ship." — John Boyle O’Reilly
Some men overcome adversity. Others make an art of it. In 1867 John Boyle O’Reilly was given a sentence second only to death in its severity: transportation. O’Reilly, however, was no ordinary convict. He published poetry throughout the harrowing journey to Australia and, once there, outwitted prison guards to escape to America.
