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BenJammin |
Written/Posted by BenJammin
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- Play count: 192
Size: 2,990kb, uploaded 8/13/2010 9:07:05 PM
Genre: Old-Time / Playing Style: Unknown/None Chosen
not finished yet
Add CommentPosted by BenJammin, written by Tommy Jarrell
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- Play count: 328
Size: 3,063kb, uploaded 10/26/2010 8:26:33 PM
Genre: Old-Time / Playing Style: Unknown/None Chosen
with a lyric from John Carson's version because I am actually from Griffin, Georgia
1 commentWritten/Posted by BenJammin
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- Play count: 979
Size: 4,093kb, uploaded 9/23/2010 7:34:23 PM
Genre: Classical / Playing Style: Unknown/None Chosen
my take on a classical string quartet
Add CommentWritten/Posted by BenJammin
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- Play count: 250
Size: 2,761kb, uploaded 7/19/2010 3:21:59 PM
Genre: Old-Time / Playing Style: Unknown/None Chosen
rough unfinished stuff
Add CommentPosted by BenJammin, written by Otis Redding
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- Play count: 172
Size: 3,675kb, uploaded 8/1/2010 11:29:23 AM
Genre: Old-Time / Playing Style: Unknown/None Chosen
my interpretation of Otis' sittin on the dock of the bay
Add CommentPosted by BenJammin
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- Play count: 367
Size: 2,989kb, uploaded 6/30/2010 11:44:36 AM
Genre: Old-Time / Playing Style: Unknown/None Chosen
swing low, sweet chariot
Add CommentPosted by BenJammin
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- Play count: 340
Size: 6,574kb, uploaded 7/4/2010 6:00:51 PM
Genre: Old-Time / Playing Style: Unknown/None Chosen
The lyrics of this tune are based on a letter which told of a New Englander's death at sea while on the way to California. Lay up nearer, brother, nearer, For my limbs are growing cold, And thy presence seemeth nearer When thine arms around me fold. I am dying, brother, dying, Soon you'll miss me in your berth; For my form will soon be lying, Beneath the ocean's briny surf. Tell my father when you see him That in death I prayed for him Prayed that I might only meet him In a world that's free from sin. Tell my mother, God assist her Now that she is growing old, That her child would glad have kissed her When his lips grew pale and cold. Listen, brother, catch each whisper 'Tis my wife I speak of now, Tell, oh tell her how I missed her When the fever burned my brow. Tell her she must kiss my children Like the kiss I last impressed, Hold them as when last I held them Held them closely to my breast. It was for them I crossed the ocean, What my hopes were I'll not tell; But they gained an orphan's portion, Yet He doeth all things well; Tell them I have reached the haven Where I sought the precious dust, And I gained a port called Heaven Where the gold will never rust.
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