(Walker)
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My old man had a rounder's soul, he'd hear an old freight train, then he'd have to go.
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Said he'd been blessed with the gypsy bone,
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that's the reason they guessed he'd been cursed to roam.
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Came into town back before the war, didn't even know what it was he was looking for.
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He carried a tattered bag for his violin, it was full of lots of songs and places that he'd been.
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He talked real easy, had a smiling way to pass along to you when his fiddle played.
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Making people drop their cares and woes to hum out loud those tunes that his fiddle bowed.
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Till the people there began to join that sound, and everyone in town was laughing,
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singing, dancing round.
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Like the fiddler's tune was all they heard that night,
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as if some dream said, "All the world is right,"
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His fiddler's eye caught one beauty there. She had that rolling, flowing, golden kind of hair.
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He played for her as if she danced alone, he played his favorite songs, ones he called his own.
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He played until she was the last to go, stopped and packed his case, said he'd take her home.
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All the nights that passed a child was born.
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All the years that passed, love would keep them warm.
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All their lives they'd share a dream come true, all because she danced so well to his fiddle tune.
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My old man had a rounder's soul, he'd hear an old freight train, then he'd have to go.
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All that I recall he said when I was so young
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was no one else could really sing those songs he sung.
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My Old Man
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John Denver |