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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. |
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(chorus) |
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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. |
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(chorus) |
