Let me tell you a tale about a spry old man Guess he's as old as the hills He's the favorite fiddler for miles and miles around And plays for all the good quadrilles Every Saturday night all the folks stop in and tune The whole town is ready to go While the fellers chose their partners and the caller taps the jug And the old man puts the rosen to the bow You could hear Uncle Ben yellin' do-si-do Swing that gal in the calico