Some years ago in the mountains of West Virginia, Craig Johnson met an old logger, once a fiddler, who explained why he could no longer make music. He had lost all four of the fingers on his left hand. Craig listened to his story, sang him the requested "sad old song," and then wrote this outstanding one. As long as we have people like Craig making songs like this (and the next one), we can be assured that what I like to call our Continuing tradition" will do exactly thatócontinue. Folk-Legacy is proud to act as Craig's publisher.
Well, sit down, buddy, we'll drink and smoke.
Woman, don't you weep for me.
My hands can't fiddle and my heart's been broke.
You damned old piney mountains.
I lost my fingers in the Galax mill.
Buddy, sing a sad, old song.
My heart got broke in the yew-pine hills.
Lord, and my time ain't long.
I started in to logging when I was in my prime,
We was fightin' over nothin' and drinkin' too hard,
Now the skidders got sold to the scrap-iron yard.
Now the trees have growed up in the loggin' road