Whistling Rufus

Down in de south whar de sly ole possum
Hides in de sycamore tree
Dar lived a coon name o' Rufus Blossom
Black as a nigger could be
Rufe had a head like a big sledge hammer
Mouth like a terrible scar
But nuthin' could touch him in Alabama
when he played on his old guitar.

Don't make no blunder You couldn't lose him
A perfect wonder They had to choose him
A great musician Of high position
Was Whist'ling Rufus the One Man Band.

Miles he would tramp to a ball or party
In rainy weather or fine
When he arrived he was welcomed hearty
Out came the chicken and wine
When he was froo wid de wine an' chicken
He'd play an' whistle so grand
You'd think dat de angels on harps was pickin'
and dey called him the One Man Band.


W. Murdock Lind/Kerry Mills

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Page created 21 October 2014