Оригинален текст
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