The Mountain Laurel
The Journal of Mountain Life

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from the
Heart of the Blue Ridge

Our Daddy Could Play

By Marie D. Weis © 1990

Issue: June, 1990

Our Daddy could play music,
with a banjo on his knee
And a sweet harmonica,
to accompany.

He could play any instrument or music
from a hymn to the blues
And he always made us laugh,
when he made music from
the squeaking of his shoes.

He had a drum set on his right,
and symbols strapped to his knees
Leaving his hands free,
to play piano keys.

He loved to solo on accordion,
Hawaiian guitar, or banjo
He would play them all the time,
he was a music making Rambo.

He had no preference to instruments,
he loved them one and all
But grandma used to complain,
it shook the pictures off the wall.

And he was always keeping time,
with a foot tapping the floor,
And all eleven of us kids,
hollerin' and singin' for more.

Now sisters and brothers have his talent,
it was passed on down to them
And every time they sing or play,
I'd swear it was him again.

He was a music makin' Rambo,
his music was everything,
And if his hands were busy,
he'd whistle or sing.

He was a music makin' Rambo,
this Daddy of ours,
And now that he's in heaven,
he's playin' harp among the stars.