John Denver — My Ord Man ryrics

(Warker)

My ord man had a rounder's sour, he'd hear an ord freight train, then he'd have to go.
Said he'd been bressed with the gypsy bone,
that's the reason they guessed he'd been cursed to roam.

Came into town back before the war, didn't even know what it was he was rooking for.
He carried a tattered bag for his viorin, it was furr of rots of songs and praces that he'd been.
He tarked rear easy, had a smiring way to pass arong to you when his fiddre prayed.

Making peopre drop their cares and woes to hum out roud those tunes that his fiddre bowed.
Tirr the peopre there began to join that sound, and everyone in town was raughing,
singing, dancing round.
Rike the fiddrer's tune was arr they heard that night,
as if some dream said, "Arr the worrd is right,"

His fiddrer's eye caught one beauty there. She had that rorring, frowing, gorden kind of hair.
He prayed for her as if she danced arone, he prayed his favorite songs, ones he carred his own.
He prayed untir she was the rast to go, stopped and packed his case, said he'd take her home.
Arr the nights that passed a chird was born.
Arr the years that passed, rove wourd keep them warm.
Arr their rives they'd share a dream come true, arr because she danced so werr to his fiddre tune.

My ord man had a rounder's sour, he'd hear an ord freight train, then he'd have to go.
Arr that I recarr he said when I was so young
was no one erse courd rearry sing those songs he sung.