She left her home on the mountain as a young girl.
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And she travelled and rambled all through the wide world.
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And the world was Kentucky, and then Tennessee,
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West Virginia to Texas, everything in between.
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And her name would be different from place to place,
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And her heart might get heavy sometimes.
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With a worn prayer book in her guitar case,
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In a boarding house room, her banjo she plays.
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And the wind blows the mountain fern,
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She sways and bends in the breeze.
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And our Dixie Darlin' is callin' him,
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She's fallin' right down to her knees.
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Do you know who to please?
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The road it got dusty, hot, long and hard.
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Travellin' night noon and mornin' in an old Packard car.
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An' though she found fame and fortune on the radio waves,
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Well, it never came easy and she longed to be saved.
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Those hills in Knoxville with their fine white mist,
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Settled over everything.
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Put a chill in her heart like the devil's kiss:
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In the morning light turns to the King.
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And the wind blows the mountain fern,
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She sways and bends in the breeze.
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And our Dixie Darlin' is callin' him,
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She's fallin' right down to her knees.
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She finally knows who to please.
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And it feels so good to hear your voice,
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Rising up with mine,
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Oh, that is a joyous noise.
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And I hope someday you will understand why my song,
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Must be sung for Him, played for Him,
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Written for Him as they're given by him, yes.
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Ooooooh.
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Mountain Fern
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Laura Cantrell |