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My old man had a rounder's soul |
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He'd hear an old freight train |
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Then he'd have to go |
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Said he'd been blessed with a gypsy bone |
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That's the reason they guessed |
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He'd been cursed to roam |
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Came into town back before the war |
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Didn't even know what it was |
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He was looking for |
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Carried a tattered bag for his violin |
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It was full of lots of songs |
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Of places that he'd been |
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He talked real easy, had a smiling way |
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To pass along to you |
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When his fiddle played |
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Making people drop their cares and woes |
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To hum out loud those tunes |
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That his fiddle bowed |
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Till the people there began to join that sound |
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And everyone in town was laughing |
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Singing, dancing round |
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Like the fiddler's tune |
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Was all they heard that night |
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As if some dream said |
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"All the world is right" |
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His fiddler's eye caught one beauty there |
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She had that rollin', flowin' |
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Golden kind of hair |
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He played for her as if she danced alone |
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Played his favorite songs |
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Ones he called his own |
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He played until she was the last to go |
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Stopped and packed his case |
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And 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 |
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That love would keep them warm |
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All their lives they'd share a dream come true |
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All because she danced |
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While his fiddle tuned |
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My old man had a rounder's soul |
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He'd hear an old freight train |
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Then he'd have to go |
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All that I recall said when I was so young |
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There's no one else could really |
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Sing those songs he sung |
