Cifra interativa

Barefoot Boy With The Boots On

Asa Martin

Adicionar a lista

Compartilhar esta cifra

Tom atual

Ajuste rapido e escolha direta

Tom atual Detectando

Use + e - para ajuste rapido ou abra o seletor para escolher diretamente o tom que voce quer tocar.

Tamanho da fonte 75%

Leitura automatica

Velocidade 20%

Toque acompanhando

Video da musica

Barefoot Boy with Boots On
Words by Asa Martin, Music Traditional

John: fiddle & vocal
George: guitar

ODh, the night was dark and cloudy
TGhe moon was shining bright
TDhe stars were casting burning rays
OEn the storm that raged that nA7ight
LDightening struck the cowshed
And the cGows all chewed their cDud
MDoonlight set the prairie on fire
In the mA7iddle of the wDoods

Oh, the barefoot boy with boots on
Come a-shuffling down the street
His pants were full of pockets
And his boots were full of feet
He was born when he was a baby
His grandma’s pride and joy
His only sister was a girl
And his brother was a boy

He never was a triplet
But he always was a twin
His legs were fastened to his knees
Just below his chin
And his feet were fastened to his ankles
Several inches from his shoulder
And when he grew up he became a man
And everyday got older

He married him a woman
Who quickly became his wife
For you see he could not marry her
And maintain a single life
Her head was full of notions
And her mouth was full of tongue
They raised a dozen children
All born when they was young

Six boys, five girls
And then another child
They never tried to raise them right
Just let them grow up wild
And late in the evening
They’d send them off to bed
Not sure if they was living
And they wished they all was dead

The youngest was a baby
But the oldest was one first
The good one was the bad one
But the bad one was the worst
They never knew their ages
No, they never seemed to care
‘Cause they knew they had a birthday
And it came ‘round once a year

They never knew their father’s age
But they always had a hunch
That he was born before their time
Was the oldest of the bunch
And when they died they could not speak
Their names they could not tell
The girls all went to heaven
And the boys all went to

The organ peeled potatoes
Lard was rendered by the choir
When the parson rang the dishrag
Someone set the church on fire
“Hole smokes!” the preacher shouted
As he madly tour his hair
Now his head resembles heaven
For there’ll be no parting there

Barefoot Boy with Boots On Words by Asa Martin, Music Traditional John: fiddle & vocal George: guitar ODh, the night was dark and cloudy TGhe moon was shining bright TDhe stars were casting burning rays OEn the storm that raged that nA7ight LDightening struck the cowshed And the cGows all chewed their cDud MDoonlight set the prairie on fire In the mA7iddle of the wDoods Oh, the barefoot boy with boots on Come a-shuffling down the street His pants were full of pockets And his boots were full of feet He was born when he was a baby His grandma’s pride and joy His only sister was a girl And his brother was a boy He never was a triplet But he always was a twin His legs were fastened to his knees Just below his chin And his feet were fastened to his ankles Several inches from his shoulder And when he grew up he became a man And everyday got older He married him a woman Who quickly became his wife For you see he could not marry her And maintain a single life Her head was full of notions And her mouth was full of tongue They raised a dozen children All born when they was young Six boys, five girls And then another child They never tried to raise them right Just let them grow up wild And late in the evening They’d send them off to bed Not sure if they was living And they wished they all was dead The youngest was a baby But the oldest was one first The good one was the bad one But the bad one was the worst They never knew their ages No, they never seemed to care ‘Cause they knew they had a birthday And it came ‘round once a year They never knew their father’s age But they always had a hunch That he was born before their time Was the oldest of the bunch And when they died they could not speak Their names they could not tell The girls all went to heaven And the boys all went to The organ peeled potatoes Lard was rendered by the choir When the parson rang the dishrag Someone set the church on fire “Hole smokes!” the preacher shouted As he madly tour his hair Now his head resembles heaven For there’ll be no parting there