He sang Battle of New Orleans
And Poor Old Kalijah,
And everyone sang along with him
When he’d belt out, Jumbalya;
He packed his guitar, music stand
and binders full of lyrics and chords,
Of all his favorite western tunes or old country songs that we adored;
He’d say, “Chriti, what’s that song…. how ’bout this one here?”
His daughter, Christi would sing along or whistle when her part came near;
With Grandson, Scotty, by his side playing right along,
You could see the pride light up inside
Every time they sang a song;
If I ran into him on the street,
It was music we discussed,
He’d say, “Girl, you oughta get that fiddle out sometime and come play with us.”
I threatened to, but never did;
Instead I just sang along,
My memory of him will now be found,
In the lyrics of those old songs.❤

I’ll sure miss ya, Dave! 🙏