Way out west where I’ll do my best to limit them ole tattoos and where is seldom heard that old f-word. And the skies are not cloudy all day.
Where men wear hats and sit the saddle, walk around in manly footwear, the western style boot, while the teenagers sing, “Back in the saddle again.”
Yes, SIR, We’re looking for a home, somewhere out west. If you know of such a place, give us a hollar.
Maybe we all are looking for something, a home, better heath, healing for a loved one, wanting, needing something. I was blowing on my harmonica, my lips barely touching the harp, breathing softly, when I noticed a harmony beginning to emerge. It went something like this, Oh, I'd like to go back to that old country church to hear the songs of praise (songs of praise) How the people would sing, it would make the rafters ring at that old, at that old country church Shall we gather at the river, the beautiful, the beautiful river Gather with the saints at the river that flows from the throne of God Oh, I'll never forget at that old country church How the glory of the Lord came down And the children would smile as they shouted down the aisle Of that old, of that old country church In the sweet bye and bye we shall meet on that beautiful shore In the sweet bye and bye we shall meet on that beautiful shore Then on Sunday I'd see all my friends dear to me At that old (at that old) country church (country church) When we'd kneel down to pray'r Everybody would be there at that old (at that old) country church Leaning (leaning) leaning (I'm leaning) Safe and secure from all alarm Leaning (leaning, leaning) leaning (I'm leaning) Leaning on the everlasting arm Now the years have gone by and so many have died At that old country church (country church) But they're on the other shore where they'll sing forever more As they did at that old country church. ******. ******. ****** Lyrics and not melody. But the brain recognizes melody first. Nothing personal or meaningful about this post. Just something that happens sometime when I’m reflective and have a harmonica in my hands. A melody will present itself, then some words, and I’ll blow it over and over until I know for sure what it is. Guess it’s called practice. Be happy to remove it if offensive or not suitable here.
Which reminds me to say, Shirley, Bobbie Nelson died recently. Willie’s sister who played piano whenever Willie performed.
Shalom for Bill QUOTE="Bill Boggs, post: 588300, member: 97"] "Maybe we all are looking for something, a home, better heath, healing for a loved one, wanting, needing something. I was blowing on my harmonica, my lips barely touching the harp, breathing softly, when I noticed a harmony beginning to emerge. It went something like this, Oh, I'd like to go back to that old country church to hear the songs of praise (songs of praise) How the people would sing, it would make the rafters ring at that old, at that old country church Shall we gather at the river, the beautiful, the beautiful river Gather with the saints at the river that flows from the throne of God Oh, I'll never forget at that old country church How the glory of the Lord came down And the children would smile as they shouted down the aisle Of that old, of that old country church In the sweet bye and bye we shall meet on that beautiful shore In the sweet bye and bye we shall meet on that beautiful shore Then on Sunday I'd see all my friends dear to me At that old (at that old) country church (country church) When we'd kneel down to pray'r Everybody would be there at that old (at that old) country church Leaning (leaning) leaning (I'm leaning) Safe and secure from all alarm Leaning (leaning, leaning) leaning (I'm leaning) Leaning on the everlasting arm Now the years have gone by and so many have died At that old country church (country church) But they're on the other shore where they'll sing forever more As they did at that old country church. ******. ******. ****** Lyrics and not melody. But the brain recognizes melody first. Nothing personal or meaningful about this post. Just something that happens sometime when I’m reflective and have a harmonica in my hands. A melody will present itself, then some words, and I’ll blow it over and over until I know for sure what it is. Guess it’s called practice. Be happy to remove it if offensive or not suitable here." [/QUOTE