"Some Mill Thoughts of Charlie Poole" is a song of mine written on 11-14-2005 on my porch in Eden, NC. I'll bet Charlie Poole absolutely HATED shiftwork and found music in the machine sounds around him....
To the rhythm of the bobbin
and the snappin’ of the yarn
in my head, I’m pickin’ banjo
with some friends behind the barn
the machines are crowded ‘round me
like the grain around the stalk
my feet are numb as dead men’s,
but I’m fixin’ for a walk…
To the rhythm of the bobbin
and the whistlin’ of the steam,
I’m far from Spray and Leakesville
on the wings of my dream
my wife’s brother has a fiddle,
and I just know that boy can play
got a neighbor with a flattop box,
and a map that knows the way…
a map that knows the way
William Byrd, he nevah knew,
and Guv’nor Morehead couldn’t say,
But the rhythm of the bobbin’
surely take your soul away
I’m thinkin’ ‘bout that wax-papered sandwich in my pocket,
My Reidsville tobacco,
and her picture in this locket…
In this locket
The rhythm of the bobbin
and the ache in my back
has me thinkin’ about the company team
and when I’ll be at bat
the uniforms have stripes,
and there’s fine ladies in the stands
and when the game is over,
a bottle changes hands…
When I get some breathin’ room,
I’ll turn my life around
Won’t be nobody’s ‘boy’,
I won’t let my deal go down
Posey, me, and that strummer’s
gonna leave this heat behind
‘stead of sweat drippin’ off our brow,
clear water’s what we’ll find…
what we’ll find
To the rhythm of the bobbin
and the hummin’ of the mill
my heart taps out a beat
like a banker’s pennies in a till
I don’t see no Fame and Fortune
in this dust and dirt and pain
my feet are numb as dead men’s
got them Walkin’ Blues again…
got them Walkin’ Blues again
I don’t know where I’m goin’
But I know for sure I will
End up underneath some headstone
on some outta town hill
‘Til my liver turns to wood
and I’m called up to My Lord
I’ll thank you for another pull
On that ol’ drinking gourd.
William Byrd, he nevah knew,
and Guv’nor Morehead couldn’t say,
But the rhythm of the bobbin’
surely take your soul away
I’m thinkin’ ‘bout that wax-papered sandwich in my pocket,
My Reidsville tobacco,
and her picture in this locket…
In this locket
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Classic Bret. Good musical journalism.
Nice groove.
Absolutely inspires me in every aspect: subject, lyrics, singing, instrumental performance, arrangement, production, whole package. Bravo my friend.
Nailed it. Loved the music and the lyrics as alwyas were superb. Keep it up!