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Roots of American Fiddle Music
"hell, there ain't no notes to it...you just play it"

Farmers Daughter
Arthur Smith

I used to know a farmer, a jolly good old soul,
Who used to do the work around his little country home.
He had an only daughter, to win her I did try,
And when I asked him for her hand, this was his good reply.

Now treat my daughter kindly and say you'll do no harm,
And when I die I'll leave to you my little house and farm.
My horses, my plow, my sheep, my cows, and my little red barn,
And all those little chickens in the g-a-r-d-e-n.

Now I loved this little girl, she said that she loved me,
I often go about the place, a smiling face to see.
I watch her milk her fathers cows, admiring her every charm,
And many a glass of milk we'd drink before we left the barn.

Now treat my daughter kindly and say you'll do no harm,
And when I die I'll leave to you my little house and farm.
My horses, my plow, my sheep, my cows, and my little red barn,
And all those little chickens in the g-a-r-d-e-n.

 


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