North Georgia Rounder

Over yonder, down at Cane Creek Holler All the shine flood them that swallow Lord, the Oosta, Oostanaula, lazy on the shoals Run these rivers, singing these sins Up the valley, I work for tips Hiss at them haints, boy Teach them that ain't, now Ain't no master of this man Tell him what or What he can't, now Ain't no master of this man Master of this man Black water slags through the country I smoke my pipe full of cured tobaccy Tide, she turns like gossip on a tongue Need me a good girl, sweet potato Keep my kitchen clean and fill my table Hiss at them haints, boy Teach them that ain't, now Ain't no master of this man Tell him what or What he can't, now Ain't no master of this man Master of this man I'm a North Georgia rounder Playin' these foothill stomps With my ragtime Rosie at my elbow Chewin' on her French cigarettes We came to drink, we came to dance We came to sing our troubles away, yeah I'm a North Georgia rounder Playin' these foothill stomps Hiss at them haints, boy Teach them that ain't, now Ain't no master of this man Tell him what or What he can't, now Ain't no master of this man Master of this man Hiss at them haints, boy Teach them that ain't, now Ain't no master of this man Tell him what or What he can't, now Ain't no master of this man Master of this man