The Life, Living, Death and Dying, of a Certain and Peculiar LJ 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 Grandpa Grandpa oh oh ohand Oh Grandpa Grandpa oh oh oh
My Grandpa left the farm to see what he could see
Tired of watching his ma getting getting whipped on the tree
and as the sun bent down on 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 and
Oh Grandpa Grandpa I miss your lying heart you see
My grandpa met grandma on a bus stuck in the woods
He turned to her and said “You will?” and she said she would
and as the sun bent down on my grandmas hand that day
the ring slood on, one gentle kiss he slightly stole away.
Oh Grandpa Grandpa oh oh ohand Oh Grandpa Grandpa oh oh oh
My Grandpa raised his young deep here in the south
He ruled with an iron fist and a harpooned mouth
and as the sun bent down on on his children’s shoulders that day
they saw his God, his love, his song blow away.
Oh Grandpa Grandpa you were a friend to me
and oh Grandpa Grandpa I miss your lying heart you see