My old man had a rounder's soul.
He'd hear an old freight train.
Then he'd have to go.
Said he'd been blessed with a gipsy bone.
That's the reason they guessed
He'd been cursed to roam.
Came into town back before the war.
Didn't 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 that he'd been.
He talked real ea-sy had a smiling way
To pass along 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 fiddler's tune was all they heard that night.
As if some dream said
"All the world is right"
His fiddler's eye caught one beauty there.
She had that rollin' flowin'
golden kind of hair.
He played for her as if she danced alone.
He played his favorite songs.
Ones he called his own.
He played until she was the last to go.
He stopped and packed his case
And said he'd take her home.
All the nights that passed a child was born.
All the years that passed.
That love would keep them warm.
All their lives they'd share a dream come true.
All because she danced
while his fiddle tuned.
My old man had a rounder's soul.
He'd hear an old freight train.
Then he'd have to go.
All that I recall said when I was so young.
No one else could really
Sing those songs he sung.
