[Verse 1: Fife-and-drum male lead, hard and raw over a marching bass drum] End of August in the hills, there's a picnic in the pines Goat been smokin' on the coals since midnight, cars parked down the lines Got the bass drum and the snares, and they march it through the crowd And Granddaddy on the cane fife, playin' high and playin' loud He would bend this one note sour, every song, right in the middle Like a mule kick to a bucket, like a crack across a fiddle And I used to tease him for it, "Old man, you missed it again" And he'd wipe the cane and grin and say "that note's my name, my friend" Then this spring we laid him down with his straw hat on his chest And his sister put the fife in my hand, said "Junior, you know the rest" [Hook: Fife-and-drum male lead, full drums] He said "don't blow it, boy," and put the cane fife in my hand Six holes burnt with a hot nail by the oldest man in the land Now the drums are rollin' up the hill, and he ain't here to see So don't blow it, Junior, blow it, Junior, blow it loud for me [Verse 2: Fife-and-drum male lead, harder, bass drum pounding, snares tight] So I practiced in the truck bed, in the barn, behind the store Every song he ever played me, I could play 'em by the score And I played 'em clean, yessir, I played 'em pretty, played 'em right Not a bend and not a sour, every note was sittin' tight Then the picnic came, I stood up, and the drums came rollin' in And I played it like a schoolboy, perfect, polished, clean as tin And nobody moved, Lord, not a foot, not a hip, not a hand Ninety people on the grass, and every one of 'em just stands [Bridge: Fife-and-drum male lead, low and raw, the bass drum pounding under him] Hush now, Junior, it ain't the notes, it never was the notes It's the crack in it, the sour, it's the frog inside the throat It's the place where he was human, where the cane was gettin' tired That's the note they all been waitin' on, the one they all admired [Verse 3: Fife-and-drum male lead, fife cry, the cane fife enters and bends the sour note] So I bring it up and blow, and in the middle of the line I bend it sour, sour on purpose, crooked as a muscadine And the first to move is Odessa, eighty-one and on a cane And she throws it in the grass and dances right on through the pain Then the drummers grin and dig in, and the snares go hard and mean And the whole field's up and movin' like a flood across the green And I'm cryin' on the fife, I'm cryin' notes, I'm playin' sour 'Cause the wrong note was his name, and I'm sayin' it this hour Yessir, that's the song, that crack is where he lives And I'll blow it every August, every crooked note he gives [Final Hook: Fife-and-drum male lead, full drums] He said "don't blow it, boy," and put the cane fife in my hand Six holes burnt with a hot nail by the oldest man in the land Now the drums are rollin' up the hill, and he ain't here to see So don't blow it, Junior, blow it, Junior, blow it loud for me [End]
