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born and bred
Georgia, sweet Georgia
in a house small and white
fair-haired brother playing in the yard
winter's drone and summer's buzz
foothill confederates march the trails of history
father's folk songs kiss the ear
I can't sing the blues no more
I want to sing those kinds of songs
carpetbaggers will never know
fingers tense and flex
flit and flay
let me die with a guitar in my hands
Princess of Appalachia
send me your kerchief
I will carry it to battle
and kiss your ear in my dreams
I am more Byronic than I'd like
I'd like to settle me down
I am made to unsettle
Lord, rouse the rabble within me.