North Georgia Rounder Lyrics by Bradshaw Pony
Bradshaw Pony Lyrics
Over yonder, down at Cane Creek Holler
All the shine flood them that swallow
Lord, the Oosta, Oostanaula, lazy on the shoals
Run these rivers, singing these sins
Up the valley, I work for tips
Hiss at them haints, boy
Teach them that ain't, now
Ain't no master of this man
Tell him what or
What he can't, now
Ain't no master of this man
Master of this man
Black water slags through the country
I smoke my pipe full of cured tobaccy
Tide, she turns like gossip on a tongue
Need me a good gal, sweet potato
Keep my kitchen clean and fill my table
Hiss at them haints, boy
Teach them that ain't, now
Ain't no master of this man
Tell him what or
What he can't, now
Ain't no master of this man
Master of this man
I'm a North Georgia Rounder
Playin' these foothill stomps
With my ragtime Rosie at my elbow
Chewin' on her French cigarettes
We came to drink, we came to dance
We came to sing our troubles away, yeah
I'm a North Georgia Rounder
Playin' these foothill stomps
Hiss at them haints, boy
Teach them that ain't, now
Ain't no master of this man
Tell him what or
What he can't, now
Ain't no master of this man
Master of this man
Hiss at them haints, boy
Teach them that ain't, now
Ain't no master of this man
Tell him what or
What he can't, now
Ain't no master of this man
Master of this man
Bradshaw Pony Chords
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Bradshaw Pony Chords
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