Lyrics

My Granddaddy’s Fiddle
Drexel Rayford
©2017, Vagrants Chapel Music, BMI

He was born where tobacco cuts rows ‘cross the field,
To a loblolly tree line when the daylight would yield
To a deep purple twilight where the lightening bugs flared,
There the cry of a bobwhite would lilt through the air.

Then he’d pick up his fiddle
And the sound of the strings
Set tired feet to dancin’
And voices to sing.
Ah, the sound of the music brought rest to his soul
And my granddaddy’s fiddle would make ‘em all feel whole.

He marched off as a young man to the Great War, they said.
Where a hot raging battle left many friends dead.
Though they gave him a medal for his valor that day,
When they asked him about it, he just looked away.

But when he picked up his fiddle
The feel of the wood
Silenced the cannon
Like nothing else could.
Ah, the sound of the music would bring joy to the place
And my granddaddy’s fiddle brought a smile to his face.

He never described it. And he never cried.
Until the guns finally silenced on the day that he died.
And after the funeral, after everyone left,
My dad found that fiddle in a dry attic cleft.

And now the voice of the fiddle
Still sings through the night
It heals broken spirits
Makes darkened hearts bright
And the sound of the music still settles the soul.
My Granddaddy’s fiddle still makes us feel whole.

And the sound of the music still settles the soul.
My Granddaddy’s fiddle still makes us feel whole.