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BenJammin

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Blue dreamin

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

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Boll Weevil

Posted by BenJammin, written by Tommy Jarrell

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- Play count: 322

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

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Cellin'

Written/Posted by BenJammin

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- Play count: 972

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

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Gourd with a fiddle

Written/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

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Sittin on the mountain high

Posted 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

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Swing Low

Posted by BenJammin

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- Play count: 366

Size: 2,989kb, uploaded 6/30/2010 11:44:36 AM
Genre: Old-Time / Playing Style: Unknown/None Chosen

swing low, sweet chariot

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The Dying Californian

Posted by BenJammin

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- Play count: 338

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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