Curly  was a mountain man.
He came from Tennessee
And never a man could equal him
For rhymin' poetry.

He was known in every Southern state
For his perspicacious skill
Why, down in Old Kentucky
They used it for a still

Curly loved his moonshine
It gave his rhymes some zing
And somewhere deep in Texas
They formed a Rhymin' Ring.

The folk came out to celebrate
Our Curly and his verse
It's said that one old feller
Jumped clear out from his hearse

Nothing seemed to stop them
They crowded to his Rhyme
The people came from everywhere
From dawn to suppertime

Then Curly got to thinkin'
It's time to get some fame
Why I could charge a million bucks
If I could make my name

He turned all arty farty
An' started writin' prose
He lost his sense of rhythm
In that new style he chose.

Now he's so high falutin'
He talks such fancy talk
He may be rich and famous
But he's lonely in New York

He misses all the fun times
When folk came from afar
To listen to our Curly
The risin' cowboy star.

He misses drinkin' moonshine
And rhymin' poetry
But most of all, he's yearnin' for
His friends in Tennessee

by Thomas V. Jones

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