To the editor:
Friends, one day ‘bout a week after the passing of the great man, I wuz tryin’ to remove oak leaves from my country yard in an undisclosed location near Athens OH. As I wuz ponderin’ the insidious and inherent Sisyphusian nature of my lone task, this little ditty popped into my head full-formed. (If you believe that, I have a plot of virgin forest up Belmont County way to sell you.) Anyhoo, I hope you agree it is full of pain and agony, heartache and sorrow, with just a modicum of religion thrown in there, as J.D. said any good country song must be.
Tune: The Ballad of Jed Clampett (Paul Henning)
Come and listen to my story ’bout my man J.D.
Raised up in Barnesville to a music family
Played bluegrass with his brothers, wrote a song or two
Added life into the old ways just for me and you
Well the next thing you know ol’ John’s a raconteur
Kinfolk said John move on outta here
They said down south is the place you gotta go
So he packed up his grip and moved to Athens O —
– hio that is, hippies, moonshiners, that wacky weed
John’s a virtuoso on any string–ed thing
We were all the richer just to listen to him sing
Friends said, “Son, ya gotta join the music biz”
He said, “That sucks, simple livin’s where it is.”
Now it’s time to bid adieu to friend Lost John
Blue Eagle’s bench is empty, the Scrabble game is gone
People don’t be sad, play that Realbilly Jive
So long as his music’s here, the man will be alive.
Lyrics: © 2021 Dr. Bob