Oh, the people would come from far and away,
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They'd dance all night 'till the break of day,
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When the caller would holler "Do-si-do,"
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You knew Uncle Pen was ready to go.
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Late in the evening about sun down,
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High on the hill and above the town,
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Uncle Pen played the fiddle, lord a how it'd ring,
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You could hear it talk, you could hear it sing.
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Oh, he played an old piece he called Soldier's Joy,
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And he had one he called Boston Boy,
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The greatest of all was Ginny Lyn,
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To me that's where the fiddlin begin.
|
|
Late in the evening about sun down,
|
High on the hill and above the town,
|
Uncle Pen played the fiddle, lord a how it'd ring,
|
You could hear it talk, you could hear it sing.
|
|
Oh, I'll never forget that mournful day,
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When Uncle Pen was called away,
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They hung up his fiddle, they hung up his bow,
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You knew it was time for him to go.
|
|
Late in the evening about sun down,
|
High on the hill and above the town,
|
Uncle Pen played the fiddle, lord a how it'd ring,
|
You could hear it talk, you could hear it sing.
|
|
Late in the evening about sun down,
|
High on the hill and above the town,
|
Uncle Pen played the fiddle, lord a how it'd ring,
|
You could hear it talk, you could hear it sing.
|
|
-----------------
|
Uncle Pen
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| Phish |
