Way down in southern West Virginia
Lived a girl that they called Emma Jean
Now her old man died and left her all his money
He was a coal field king

Now Emma Jean told me if you'll be my husband
I'll dress you in patent leather shoes
Well hello good times, so long ramblin'
Goodbye down and out blues

Now mama, she told me don't marry for money
She may act just like a queen
She may be rich, but there's always a hitch
She can talk sweet and still be mean

Now buddy I know, don't you marry for dough
I remember when I didn't have any
I'm telling you son, if you marry for money
You're gonna earn every penny

Now Emma Jean she never took her hair down
She just moped around all day dressed in her slip
Now I couldn't drink beer or smoke my cigar
She was awful good at cracking that whip

Now old Emma Jean's half Indian and half bulldog
And I'm just a coyote howling
Because she's either on the war path or sitting round the house
Stretched out on her tail and a-growling

Well now breakfast in bed ain't so bad for your head
If you're laying there enjoying the snack
But it ain't so much fun if you're the one carrying
While she's propped up in the sack

Now buddy I know, don't you marry for dough
You'd be better off withholding your shoes
Well, I'm gonna run, being rich ain't no fun
Hey Judge won't you give me back, judge won't you give me back
Judge won't you give me back my blues

Well, I'm gonna run, being rich ain't no fun
Hey Judge won't you give me back my blues