Related quotes: Up in the mountains, it's...

The Mountain Whippoorwill

Up in the mountains, it's lonesome all the time,
(Sof' win' slewin' thu' the sweet-potato vine.)
Up in the mountains, it's lonesome for a child,
(Whippoorwills a-callin' when the sap runs wild.)
Up in the mountains, mountains in the fog,
Everythin's as lazy as an old houn' dog.
Born in the mountains, never raised a pet,
Don't want nuthin' an' never got it yet.
Born in the mountains, lonesome-born,
Raised runnin' ragged thu' the cockleburrs and corn.
Never knew my pappy, mebbe never should.
Think he was a fiddle made of mountain laurel-wood.
Never had a mammy to teach me pretty-please.
Think she was a whippoorwill, a-skittin' thu' the trees.
Never had a brother ner a whole pair of pants,
But when I start to fiddle, why, yuh got to start to dance!
Listen to my fiddle -- Kingdom Come -- Kingdom Come!
Hear the frogs a-chunkin' 'Jug o' rum, Jug o' rum!'
Hear that mountain whippoorwill be lonesome in the air,
An' I'll tell yuh how I travelled to the Essex County Fair.
Essex County has a mighty pretty fair,
All the smarty fiddlers from the South come there.
Elbows flyin' as they rosin up the bow
For the First Prize Contest in the Georgia Fiddlers' Show.
Old Dan Wheeling, with his whiskers in his ears,
King-pin fiddler for nearly twenty years.
Big Tom Sergeant, with his blue wall-eye,
An' Little Jimmy Weezer that can make a fiddle cry.
All sittin' roun', spittin' high an' struttin' proud,
(Listen, little whippoorwill, yuh better bug yore eyes!)
Tun-a-tun-a-tunin' while the jedges told the crowd
Them that got the mostest claps'd win the bestest prize.
Everybody waitin' for the first tweedle-dee,
When in comes a-stumblin' -- hill-billy me!
Bowed right pretty to the jedges an' the rest,
Took a silver dollar from a hole inside my vest,
Plunked it on the table an' said, 'There's my callin' card!
An' anyone that licks me -- well, he's got to fiddle hard!'
Old Dan Wheeling, he was laughin' fit to holler,
Little Jimmy Weezer said, 'There's one dead dollar!'
Big Tom Sergeant had a yaller-toothy grin,
But I tucked my little whippoorwill spang underneath my chin,
An' petted it an' tuned it till the jedges said, 'Begin!'
Big Tom Sargent was the first in line;
He could fiddle all the bugs off a sweet-potato vine.
He could fiddle down a possum from a mile-high tree,
He could fiddle up a whale from the bottom of the sea.
Yuh could hear hands spankin' till they spanked each other raw,
When he finished variations on 'Turkey in the Straw.'
Little Jimmy Weezer was the next to play;
He could fiddle all night, he could fiddle all day.
He could fiddle chills, he could fiddle fever,
He could make a fiddle rustle like a lowland river.
He could make a fiddle croon like a lovin' woman.
An' they clapped like thunder when he'd finished strummin'.
Then came the ruck of the bob-tailed fiddlers,
The let's-go-easies, the fair-to-middlers.
They got their claps an' they lost their bicker,
An' they all settled back for some more corn-licker.
An' the crowd was tired of their no-count squealing,
When out in the center steps Old Dan Wheeling.
He fiddled high and he fiddled low,
(Listen, little whippoorwill, yuh got to spread yore wings!)
He fiddled and fiddled with a cherrywood bow,
(Old Dan Wheeling's got bee-honey in his strings).
He fiddled a wind by the lonesome moon,
He fiddled a most almighty tune.
He started fiddling like a ghost.
He ended fiddling like a host.
He fiddled north an' he fiddled south,
He fiddled the heart right out of yore mouth.
He fiddled here an' he fiddled there.
He fiddled salvation everywhere.
When he was finished, the crowd cut loose,
(Whippoorwill, they's rain on yore breast.)
An' I sat there wonderin' 'What's the use?'
(Whippoorwill, fly home to yore nest.)
But I stood up pert an' I took my bow,
An' my fiddle went to my shoulder, so.
An' -- they wasn't no crowd to get me fazed --
But I was alone where I was raised.
Up in the mountains, so still it makes yuh skeered.
Where God lies sleepin' in his big white beard.
An' I heard the sound of the squirrel in the pine,
An' I heard the earth a-breathin' thu' the long night-time.
They've fiddled the rose, and they've fiddled the thorn,
But they haven't fiddled the mountain-corn.
They've fiddled sinful an' fiddled moral,
But they haven't fiddled the breshwood-laurel.
They've fiddled loud, and they've fiddled still,
But they haven't fiddled the whippoorwill.
I started off with a dump-diddle-dump,
(Oh, hell's broke loose in Georgia!)
Skunk-cabbage growin' by the bee-gum stump.
(Whippoorwill, yo're singin' now!)
My mother was a whippoorwill pert,
My father, he was lazy,
But I'm hell broke loose in a new store shirt
To fiddle all Georgia crazy.
Swing yore partners -- up an' down the middle!
Sashay now -- oh, listen to that fiddle!
Flapjacks flippin' on a red-hot griddle,
An' hell's broke loose,
Hell's broke loose,
Fire on the mountains -- snakes in the grass.
Satan's here a-bilin' -- oh, Lordy, let him pass!
Go down Moses, set my people free;
Pop goes the weasel thu' the old Red Sea!
Jonah sittin' on a hickory-bough,
Up jumps a whale -- an' where's yore prophet now?
Rabbit in the pea-patch, possum in the pot,
Try an' stop my fiddle, now my fiddle's gettin' hot!
Whippoorwill, singin' thu' the mountain hush,
Whippoorwill, shoutin' from the burnin' bush,
Whippoorwill, cryin' in the stable-door,
Sing tonight as yuh never sang before!
Hell's broke loose like a stompin' mountain-shoat,
Sing till yuh bust the gold in yore throat!
Hell's broke loose for forty miles aroun'
Bound to stop yore music if yuh don['t sing it down.
Sing on the mountains, little whippoorwill,
Sing to the valleys, an' slap 'em with a hill,
For I'm struttin' high as an eagle's quill,
An' hell's broke loose,
Hell's broke loose,
Hell's broke loose in Georgia!
They wasn't a sound when I stopped bowin',
(Whippoorwill, yuh can sing no more.)
But, somewhere or other, the dawn was growin',
(Oh, mountain whippoorwill!)
An' I thought, 'I've fiddled all night an' lost,
Yo're a good hill-billy, but yuh've been bossed.'
So I went to congratulate old man Dan,
-- But he put his fiddle into my han' --
An' then the noise of the crowd began!

poem by Stephen Vincent Benet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

Blind Jack

I had fiddled all day at the county fair.
But driving home "Butch" Weldy and Jack McGuire,
Who were roaring full, made me fiddle and fiddle
To the song of Susie Skinner, while whipping the horses
Till they ran away.
Blind as I was, I tried to get out
As the carriage fell in the ditch,
And was caught in the wheels and killed.
There's a blind man here with a brow
As big and white as a cloud.
And all we fiddlers, from highest to lowest,
Writers of music and tellers of stories
Sit at his feet,
And hear him sing of the fall of Troy.

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Devil Went Down To Georgia

***************************************
Primus - The Devil Went Down To Georgia
***************************************
The devil went down to Georgia
He was lookin' for a soul to steal
He was in a bind 'cause he was way behind
And he was willing to make a deal
When he came across this young man
Sawing on a fiddle and playing it hot
And the devil jumped up on a hickory stump
And said, "Boy let me tell you what
"I guess you didn't know it
But I'm a fiddle player too
And if you'd care to take a dare
I'll make a bet with you"
"Now you play pretty good fiddle, son
But give the devil his due
I bet a fiddle of gold against your soul
'Cause I think I'm better than you"
The boy said "My name's Johnny
And it might be a sin
But I'll take your bet and you're gonna regret
'Cause I'm the best that's ever been"
Johhny you resin up your bow
And play your fiddle hard
'Cause Hell's broke loose in Georgia
And the devil deals the cards
And if you win
You get this shiny fiddle made of gold
But if you lose
The devil gets your soul
The devil openned up his case
And he said "I'll start this show"
And fire flew from his fingertips
As he resined up his bow
And he pulled the bow across the strings
And it made an evil hiss
Then a band of demons joined in
And it sounded something like this
When the devil finished Johnny said
"Well you're pretty good, old son
But sit down in that chair right there
And let me show you how its done"
{Refrain}
Fire on the mountain, run boys run
The devil's in the house of the rising sun
Chicken in the bread pan pickin' out dough
Granny does your dog bite, no child no
The devil bowed his head
Because he knew that he'd been beat
And he laid that golden fiddle
On the ground at Johnny's feet
Johnny said "Devil, just come on back
If you ever want to try again
But I told you once, you son of a bitch
I'm the best that's ever been"
He played
Fire on the mountain, run boys run
The devil's in the house of the rising sun
Chicken in the bread pan pickin' out dough
Granny does your dog bite, no child no

song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fiddle About

Uncle ernie:
Uncle ernie:
Im your wicked uncle ernie
Im your wicked uncle ernie
Im glad you wont see or hear me
Im glad you wont see or hear me
As I fiddle about
As I fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about !
Fiddle about !
Your mother left me here to mind you
Your mother left me here to mind you
Now Im doing what I want to
Now Im doing what I want to
Fiddling about
Fiddling about
Fiddling about
Fiddling about
Fiddle about!
Fiddle about!
Down with the bedclothes
Down with the bedclothes
Up with the nightshirt!
Up with the nightshirt!
Fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about !
Fiddle about !
You wont shout as I fiddle about
You wont shout as I fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about
Fiddle about !
Fiddle about !
Fiddle, fiddle, fiddle.
Fiddle, fiddle, fiddle.

song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Itching Heels

FU' de peace o' my eachin' heels, set down;
Don' fiddle dat chune no mo'.
Don' you see how dat melody stuhs me up
An' baigs me to tek to de flo'?
You knows I's a Christian, good an' strong;
I wusship f'om June to June;
My pra'ahs dey ah loud an' my hymns ah long:
I baig you don' fiddle dat chune.
I's a crick in my back an' a misery hyeah
Whaih de j'ints's gittin' ol' an' stiff,
But hit seems lak you brings me de bref o' my youf;
W'y, I's suttain I noticed a w'iff.
Don' fiddle dat chune no mo', my chile,
Don' fiddle dat chune no mo';
I'll git up an' taih up dis groun' fu' a mile,
An' den I'll be chu'ched fu' it, sho'.
Oh, fiddle dat chune some mo', I say,
An' fiddle it loud an' fas':
I's a youngstah ergin in de mi'st o' my sin;
De p'esent's gone back to de pas'.
I'll dance to dat chune, so des fiddle erway;
I knows how de backslidah feels;
So fiddle it on 'twell de break o' de day
Fu' de sake o' my eachin' heels.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dum Dum Diddle

I can hear how you work, practising hard
Playing night and day, woah-oh
And it sounds better now
Yes, you improve every time you play, woah-oh
But its bad
Youre so sad
And youre only smiling
When you play your violin
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
To be so near you and not just hear you
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
I think then maybe youd see me, baby
Youd be mine
And wed be together all the time
Wish I was, dum-dum-diddle, your darling fiddle
But I think you dont know that I exist
Im the quiet kind, woah-oh
From the day when I first listened to you
Youve been on my mind, woah-oh
You dont care
Its not fair
And youre only smiling
When you play your violin
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
To be so near you and not just hear you
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
I think then maybe youd see me, baby
Youd be mine
And wed be together all the time
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
To be so near you and not just hear you
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
I think then maybe youd see me, baby
Youd be mine
And wed be together all the time
Wish I was, dum-dum-diddle, your darling fiddle

song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Time Fiddle

(Vince Gill / Leslie Satcher)
I wanna hear an old time fiddle
Play an old time fiddle song
I might even drink just a little
If you play Little Jolie Blon
If you're lookin' or me
I'm liable to be
In the middle of the ol' dance floor
I wanna hear an old time fiddle
Like you never get to hear anymore.
First Chorus:
I wanna throw down on a hoe down
Hanging with the people I know
Hear the sweet sound
Of a breakdown
When you put a little rosin on the bow
Y'all come on over when the sun goes down
Bang on the ol' screen door
I wanna hear an old time fiddle
Like you never get to hear anymore.
I miss ol' Herman Stover
Playin' Listen To The Mockingbird
It was Piedmont, Oklahoma
It was the sweetest sound I ever heard
Skinny ol' man in a cowboy band
You could barely get the people in the door
I wanna hear an old time fiddle
Like you never get to hear anymore.
Second Chorus:
I wanna throw down on a hoe down
Hanging with the people I know
Hear the sweet sound
Of a breakdown
When you put a little rosin on the bow
Play diggy diggy li
Diggy diggy lo
The a little Cotten-Eyed Joe
I wanna hear an old time fiddle
Like you never get to hear anymore.
First chorus:
Y'all come on over when the sun goes down
Bang on the ol' screen door
I wanna hear an old time fiddle
Like you never get to hear anymore...

song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Vanessa Mae

after the fiddle in the wildest harmonies
of your classical violin
please come to my room and fiddle
the best of all the best songs
the base, the tip of my top, the
giggle of the gigs inside my
underwear, there is this fire
that damns me to an eternal longing
this madness not anymore bound
to a second fiddle. play me, please.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Fiddle And The Crowd

WHEN the day was at its middle,
Tired of limb and slow of pace,
Came a fiddler with his fiddle
To a crowded market place;
Lying, cheating, boasting, bragging,
Men and women walked together;
Heads were nodding, tongues were wagging,
Talk there was of trade and weather,
Talk there was of man's enslavement
To the tyrants, Toil and Worry;
Yet the fiddle on the pavement
Minding not the noise and hurry,
Singing low and singing loud —
Spoke its message to the crowd.
Said the fiddle —
'Pause and listen;
Can't you hear the waters running
Down the mossy mountain valleys?
Don't you see the lyre-bird sunning
Glossy plumes in fronded alleys?
Life is glory, life is glamour!'
Said the fiddle
In the middle
Of the tumult and the clamour.
Though unheeded seemed the fiddle,
Bidding each and all rejoice,
When the day was at its middle —
Yet beneath its magic voice,
Laughing, sobbing, teasing, fretting,
Men and women met together,
Smiled to find themselves forgetting
Troublous thoughts of trade and weather;
One bethought him of a cavern
Cool and sweet with running water,
And another of a tavern
And a tavern-keeper's daughter —
Ale to drink and lips to kiss —
'Twas the fiddle did all this!
Said the fiddle —
'Hush and hearken
To the song that I am singing,
For it is a song entrancing.
Telling now of gladness ringing,
Telling now of children dancing;
Life is music, life is glamour.'
Said the fiddle
In the middle
Of the tumult and the clamour.

poem by Roderic Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Croquis

The beach was crowded. Pausing now and then,
He groped and fiddled doggedly along,
His worn face glaring on the thoughtless throng
The stony peevishness of sightless men.
He seemed scarce older than his clothes. Again,
Grotesquing thinly many an old sweet song,
So cracked his fiddle, his hand so frail and wrong,
You hardly could distinguish one in ten.
He stopped at last, and sat him on the sand,
And, grasping wearily his bread-winner,
Staring dim towards the blue immensity,
Then leaned his head upon his poor old hand.
He may have slept: he did not speak nor stir:
His gesture spoke a vast despondency.

poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Corn-Stalk Fiddle

WHEN the corn's all cut and the bright stalks shine
Like the burnished spears of a field of gold;
When the field-mice rich on the nubbins dine,
And the frost comes white and the wind blows cold;
Then it's heigh-ho! fellows and hi-diddle-diddle,
For the time is ripe for the corn-stalk fiddle.
And when you take a stalk that is straight and long,
With an expert eye to its worthy points,
And you think of the bubbling strains of song
That are bound between its pithy joints —
Then you cut out strings, with a bridge in the middle,
With a corn-stalk bow for a corn-stalk fiddle.
Then the strains that grow as you draw the bow
O'er the yielding strings with a practiced hand!
And the music's flow never loud but low
Is the concert note of a fairy band.
Oh, your dainty songs are a misty riddle
To the simple sweets of a corn-stalk fiddle.
When the eve comes on, and our work is done,
And the sun drops down with a tender glance,
With their hearts all prime for the harmless fun,
Come the neighbor girls for the evening's dance,
And they wait for the well-known twist and twiddle —
More time than tune — from the corn-stalk fiddle.
Then brother Jabez takes the bow,
While Ned stands off with Susan Bland,
Then Henry stops by Milly Snow,
And John takes Nellie Jones's hand,
While I pair off with Mandy Biddle,
And scrape, scrape, scrape goes the corn-stalk fiddle.
'Salute your partners,' comes the call,
'All join hands and circle round,'
'Grand train back,' and 'Balance all,'
Footsteps lightly spurn the ground.
'Take your lady and balance down the middle'
To the merry strains of the corn-stalk fiddle.
So the night goes on and the dance is o'er,
And the merry girls are homeward gone,
But I see it all in my sleep once more,
And I dream till the very break of dawn
Of an impish dance on a red-hot griddle
To the screech and scrape of a corn-stalk fiddle.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Uncle Pen

Oh, the people would come from far and away,
They'd dance all night 'till the break of day,
When the caller would holler "Do-si-do,"
You knew Uncle Pen was ready 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.
Oh, he played an old piece he called Soldier's Joy,
And he had one he called Boston Boy,
The greatest of all was Ginny Lyn,
To me that's where the fiddlin begin.
(chorus)
Oh, I'll never forget that mournful day,
When Uncle Pen was called away,
They hung up his fiddle, they hung up his bow,
You knew it was time for him to go.
(chorus)

song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Call Of The Whippoorwill

I hear the call of the whippoorwill
The calf it bawls in the field
The mare is soon to birth a foul
I can't help it, I miss you still

I feed the geese that once loved you
And that hound from the field you found
The puppy stray you brought home and raised
I pet him while he's lying down

Honey come home...
Without you it's not any kind of home
Own my own, I'm so alone
Honey, please come home

Your hound and I we so try
Through the days we somehow get by
We think we can make it, then comes the night
The loneliness we must fight

The whippoorwill as it calls from the field
Sometimes your name I hear it feels
I miss you so, I love you still
Honey, I always will

Honey come home...
Without you it's not any kind of home
Own my own, I'm so alone
Honey, please come home

The whippoorwill and I we both try
I hear it call I hear it cry
Something is missing from both of our lives
Honey, I'm so empty inside

Honey come home...
Without you it's not any kind of home
Own my own, I'm so alone
Honey, please come home.

poem by Bill Simmons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fiddler Jones

The earth keeps some vibration going
There in your heart, and that is you.
And if the people find you can fiddle,
Why, fiddle you must, for all your life.
What do you see, a harvest of clover?
Or a meadow to walk through to the river?
The wind's in the corn; you rub your hands
For beeves hereafter ready for market;
Or else you hear the rustle of skirts
Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove.
To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust
Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth;
They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy
Stepping it off to 'Toor-a-Loor.'
How could I till my forty acres
Not to speak of getting more,
With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos
Stirred in my brain by crows and robins
And the creak of a wind-mill--only these?
And I never started to plow in my life
That some one did not stop in the road
And take me away to a dance or picnic.
I ended up with forty acres;
I ended up with a broken fiddle--
And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories,
And not a single regret.

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Old Man

This song was first released on the rhymes and reasons album. it is the only album it has been released on.
(these words are incorrect at this time)
My old man had a round of soul
Hed hear an old freight train
Then hed have to go
Said hed been blessed with a gypsy bone
Thats the reason they guessed
Hed been cursed to roam
Came into town back before the war
Didnt even know what it
Was he was looking for
He carried a tattered bag for his violin
It was full of lots of songs
Of places he had been
He talked real easy
Had a smiling way to pass abn^. to you
When his fiddle played
Making people drop their cares and woes
To hum out loud those tunes
That his fiddle howed
Till the people there began to join that sound
And everyone in town was
Laughing, singing, dancing round
Like the fiddlers tune was
All the years that passed
That love would keep them warm
All their lives theyd share
A dream come true
All because she danced while his fiddle tuned
My old man had a round of soul
Hed hear an old freight train
Then hed have to go
All that I recall said when I was young
No one else could really
Sing those songs he sung
Words and music by walker

song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Get On With The Show

(Van Morrison)
I just can't seem to take much more of this
Got too much hassle baby and not enough bliss
Got to give these hangers on a miss
'Cos I need some help I just don't get
No one seems to understand what's up
What's up, what's up
So called friends come and go
And things just don't add up
Trying to make my way
Through all this illusion and myth
I don't even have no safety net
Nero fiddled while Rome burnt
Napoleon met his Waterloo
Sampson went spare when Delilah cut his hair
But little David slew Goliath too
I'm just trying to get some results
Listen baby I'm not trying to start my own cult
Please tell me something that I don't know
I just wanna get on with the show
Nero fiddled while Rome burnt
Napoleon met his Waterloo
Sampson went spare when Delilah cut his hair
But little David slew Goliath too
You'd think some program might do the trick
Let me tell you this wall of fog
Is just too thick
I thought of everything but the whip
But baby nobody on my ship is up to it
I'm just trying to get some results, some results
I'm not trying to start my own cult, no ..
Just tell me something that I don't know
I just wanna get on with the show
I just wanna get on with the show
Just tell me something that I don't know
I just wanna get on with the show
And if it don't work then let it go

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fiddle-Dee-Dee

There once was a bird that lived up in a tree,
And all he could whistle was "Fiddle-dee-dee" -
A very provoking, unmusical song
For one to be whistling the summer day long!
Yet always contented and busy was he
With that vocal recurrence of "Fiddle-dee-dee."

Hard by lived a brave little soldier of four,
That weird iteration repented him sore;
"I prithee, Dear-Mother-Mine! fetch me my gun,
For, by our St. Didy! the deed must be done
That shall presently rid all creation and me
Of that ominous bird and his 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!"

Then out came Dear-Mother-Mine, bringing her son
His awfully truculent little red gun;
The stock was of pine and the barrel of tin,
The "bang" it came out where the bullet went in -
The right kind of weapon I think you'll agree
For slaying all fowl that go "Fiddle-dee-dee"!

The brave little soldier quoth never a word,
But he up and he drew a straight bead on that bird;
And, while that vain creature provokingly sang,
The gun it went off with a terrible bang!
Then loud laughed the youth - "By my Bottle," cried he,
I've put a quietus on 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!"

Out came then Dear-Mother-Mine, saying: "My son,
Right well have you wrought with your little red gun!
Hereafter no evil at all need I fear,
With such a brave soldier as You-My-Love here!"
She kissed the dear boy.
(The bird in the tree
Continued to whistle his "Fiddle-dee-dee")

poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Recruit's Ball

Fiddler loquitur

Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddlestick, fiddlestick,
Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddle for a king!
Heigh, pretty Kitty! heigh, jolly Polly!
Up with the heels, girls! fling, lasses, fling!
Heigh there! stay there! that's not the way there!
Oh Johnny, Johnny,
Oh Johnny, Johnny,
Ho, ho, everybody all round the ring!

Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddlestick, fiddlestick,
Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddle for a king!
Heigh, pretty Kitty! heigh, jolly Polly!
Up with the heels, girls! swing, girls, swing!
Foot, boys! foot, boys! to 't, boys! do 't, boys!
Ho, Bill! ho, Jill! ho, Will! ho, Phil!
Ho, Johnny, Johnny,
Ho, Johnny, Johnny,
Ho, ho, everybody, all round the ring!

Deuce take the fiddle,
Deuce take the fiddle,
Deuce take the jolly fiddle, deuce take the fiddler!
Here goes the fiddle,
Here goes the fiddle,
Here goes the jolly fiddle, here goes the fiddler!

Ned, boy! your head, boy!
She'll strike you dead, boy!
There she goes at your nose!
Deuce strike you dead, boy!

Call, boys! bawl, boys!
Deuce take us all, boys!
Here we go, yes or no,
Deuce take us all, boys!

Deuce take the wall, boys,
Deuce take the floor, boys,
Deuce take the jolly floor,
Deuce take us all, boys!

There goes the wall, boys!
There goes the door, boys!
Round they swing in a ring!
There goes the floor, boys!

Lad, wench, roof, floor,
Wench, lad, wall, door!
Curse the ground, spin it round!
Deuce take us all, boys!

poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fairy Tale

Now this is the story of Olaf
Who ages and ages ago
Lived right on the top of a mountain,
A mountain all covered with snow.

And he was quite pretty and tiny
With beautiful curling fair hair
And small hands like delicate flowers--
Cheeks kissed by the cold mountain air.

He lived in a hut made of pinewood
Just one little room and a door
A table, a chair, and a bedstead
And animal skins on the floor.

Now Olaf was partly fairy
And so never wanted to eat;
He thought dewdrops and raindrops were plenty
And snowflakes and all perfumes sweet.

In the daytime when sweeping and dusting
And cleaning were quite at an end,
He would sit very still on the doorstep
And dream--O, that he had a friend!

Somebody to come when he called them,
Somebody to catch by the hand,
Somebody to sleep with at night time,
Somebody who'd quite understand.

One night in the middle of Winter
He lay wide awake on his bed,
Outside there was fury of tempest
And calling of wolves to be fed--

Thin wolves, grey and silent as shadows;
And Olaf was frightened to death.
He had peeped through a crack in the doorpost,
He had seen the white smoke of their breath.

But suddenly over the storm wind
He heard a small voice pleadingly
Cry, "I am a snow fairy, Olaf,
Unfasten the window for me."

So he did, and there flew through the opening
The daintiest, prettiest sprite
Her face and her dress and her stockings,
Her hands and her curls were all white.

And she said, "O you poor little stranger
Before I am melted, you know,
I have brought you a valuable present,
A little brown fiddle and bow.

So now you can never be lonely,
With a fiddle, you see, for a friend,
But all through the Summer and Winter
Play beautiful songs without end."

And then,--O she melted like water,
But Olaf was happy at last;
The fiddle he tucked in his shoulder,
He held his small bow very fast.

So perhaps on the quietest of evenings
If you listen, you may hear him soon,
The child who is playing the fiddle
Away up in the cold, lonely moon.

poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sit And Fiddle With This

You're getting out of my life.
And not for one specific reason.
I think we both know it is clear,
The end is very near.
And,
You're out of my life.
To drift your fits to faddish reasons.

Go go...
And build yourself a kite.
Double up the string on it and hold on real tight.

Go go...
And do that which you like.
There's no need to argue, fuss or cuss to fight.

Go go...
And build yourself a kite,
'Cause...
There's no need for us to sit and fiddle with this day and night.
Go go...
And do that which you like.
'Cause...
There's no need for us to sit and fiddle with this day and night.

You're getting out of my life.
And not for one specific reason.
I think we both know it is clear,
The end is very near.
And,
There's no need for us to sit and fiddle with this day and night.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whippoorwill River

(Vince Gill / Dean Dillon)
My dad was a man
With two hard workin' hands
He always took time out for me
Well, I'd come home from school
Load up that canoe
He'd say, "What's the bet gonna be?"
Chorus:
We'd float that boat down old Whippoorwill River
Catch us a big one or two
Well, he taught me about life
And its simple pleasures
And whatever else that he knew.
Then I met a girl
With a head full of curls
A pure and innocent heart
Oh, I knew she was the one
And when weekends would come
Wild horses couldn't keep us apart.
Chorus:
We'd run those ponies down Whippoorwill River
And I'd steal a sweet kiss or two
She taught me about love
And its simple pleasures
And whatever else that she knew.
Well, I married that girl
And we have a song
And he looks like my daddy used to
Oh, his mom and I
Always find time
To do things that he likes to do.
Chorus:
Well, he loves to go fishing on Whippoorwill River
And ride in his grandad's canoe
We teach hima bout life
And its simple pleasures
And pass down a memory or two.
Yeah, he loves to go fishing on Whippoorwill River
And catch him a big one or two
He's learning about life
And its simple pleasures
And making a memory or two.
Ooh...