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Grandma came from Vicksburg, family old and proud.
Her coffeeâd wake a dead man, her biscuits were like clouds.
Grandpa came from Pittsburg, never knew his dad.
Broken heart, old stories, and a fiddleâs all he had.
It was at a dance in â28, she was graceful as a deer.
When he saw her smile he heard, a melody so clear.
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Sheâs like the dew on the mountain, sweet as the rain
And if she ever goes away hey
I hope sheâll come right back again,
Come right back again
Parents didnât like him, they say he drank and smoked.
On more than one occasion, he was known to tell a joke.
She knew he was a sinner, but his fiddle was o so sweet.
Worked just like a brand new broom, and swept her off her feet.
She packed her things in secret, and she ran off like a deer.
In his dreams her daddy heard a melody so clear.
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Heâd still go to dances, and the fiddler call a tune.
Come home drunk and silly, as a bumblebee in june.
Grandma called the preacher, feared for his condition.
Preacher said to Grandma, heâs on the highway to perdition.
She packed her bags and slammed the door, but his truck ran like a deer.
By the time she got to Vicksburg, she could hear the melody so clear.
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Grandpa died in â65, his heart gave out on him.
Some folks said cholesterol, some put it down to sin.
Grandma sure did miss him, said he like to drove me mad.
But still in all he was my love, and I miss him awful bad.
On the night she passed away, I was sittinâ in her room.
I thought I heard her whisper Grandpaâs favorite tune
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So if you play the fiddle sir I have a job for you
Very next time you resin the bow Iâd like to hear that tune
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