Fiddle King (©Words and music by Gordon McLeod) email@example.com
When the weather turned warm enough to wander
And the Carolina moon shone full in the spring,
With a boy’s delight I knew he was back
By that sweet scratchin’ sound of his fiddle strings.
Some nights I’d sneak and follow him
To the old barn dance where he’d play and sing.
And the horsehair rubbin’ on the catgut
Made my bare feet shuffle and my little heart sing.
They said he was no count and lazy, tradin’ his life for a fiddle’s ring,
Most said he was just crazy, but to me
He was the Fiddle King.
He drank whisky whenever he could
In an old hollw log he’d lay up for days.
But he was never too drunk to remember
Any tune I asked him to play.
He played “Devil in the Strawstack”,
“Jack O’ Diamonds” and “Bonaparte’s Retreat”.
He’d whip his bow into a Georgia shuffle,
Made his eyes shine bright, and give him dancin’ feet.
Mama said she snatch me bald if she ever caught me puttin’ bow to strings,
She said the fiddle was the Devil’s toy but it sounded like Heaven
In the hands of the King.
They said he’d run from the Army
That the old Home Guard would soon make him swing.
He said it wasn’t his war, he wouldn’t fight no more
He was goin’ down to Georgia after the spring.
The last time I heard him play The Guard had him backed up to a cottonwood tree.
His last request was “Bonaparte’s Retreat”,
I always thought he played that tune just for me.
Some said he was shiftless and lazy, tradin’ his life for a fiddle’s ring,
Most said he was plain crazy, but to me… oH!
Mama said he died a sinner, wasted his life on the Devil’s plaything,
Well that may be so but somehow I know that right now
He’s in the hands of the King------Fiddle King.