The Life, Living, Death, and Dying, of a Certain and Peculiar L.J. Nichols

My grandpa was born on a cold summer's day
Not in New York, Chicago, or any special place
And as the sun bent down on his mother's breast as he did there lay
His father got his whip and sharpened his axe that day

Oh, no, grandpa, grandpa, oh-oh-oh
No, grandpa, grandpa, oh-oh-oh

My grandpa left the farm to see what he could see
Tired of watching his ma getting whipped on the tree
And as the sun bent down on his face as he ran that day
His mother turned her cheek and looked the other way

Oh, grandpa, grandpa, you were a friend to me
Oh, grandpa, grandpa, I miss your lying heart you see
(the great man)

And oh, grandpa, grandpa, oh-oh-oh
No, grandpa, grandpa, oh-oh-oh

My grandpa met grandma on a bus stuck in the woods
He turned to her, said, "You will?" Yes, she said she would
And as the sun bent down on my grandma's hand that day
The ring slood on, one gentle kiss he slightly stole away

And oh, grandpa, grandpa, oh-oh-oh
No, grandpa, grandpa, oh-oh-oh

My grandpa raised his young deep there in the south
He ruled with an iron fist and a harpooned mouth
And as the sun bent down on his children's shoulders that day
They saw his God, his love, his song blow away

And oh, grandpa, grandpa, oh-oh-oh
Oh, grandpa, grandpa, oh-oh-oh