Big Bend Gals

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Big Bend Gals  Click on the tune title to see or modify Big Bend Gals's annotations. If the link is red you can create them using the form provided.Browse Properties <br/>Browse/:Big Bend Gals
 Theme code Index    
 Also known as    Big Bend Gal
 Composer/Core Source    
 Region    United States
 Genre/Style    Old-Time
 Meter/Rhythm    Air/Lament/Listening Piece
 Key/Tonic of    
 Accidental    
 Mode    
 Time signature    
 History    USA(Upland South)
 Structure    
 Editor/Compiler    
 Book/Manuscript title    
 Tune and/or Page number    
 Year of publication/Date of MS    
 Artist    Shelor Family (The)
 Title of recording    
 Record label/Catalogue nr.    Victor 39761-3
 Year recorded    1927
 Media    
 Score   ()   


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BIG BEND GALS. Old-Time, Song & Breakdown. From Virginia's Shelor Family, who recorded it for Victor records in Bristol, Tenn., in August, 1927 (39761-3 Big Bend Gal 8-3-1927 20865). See also the related "Eight More Miles to Louisville."

There's no use in talking 'bout the Big Bend Gal,
That lives on the county line;
For Betsy Jane from the prairie plain
Just leaves them way behind.
You never would see such a likely woman,
If you searched out all creation;
She beats the gals from the flat creek bottom,
She's the queen of the whole plantation.

She totes herself like a flying squirrel [Carl Baron - "probably a reference to a motorcycle"]
And the men folk all come around;
And lord how the dewdrops get off the grass
When she puts her feet upon the ground.
She's just as ripe as an apple on a tree,
And she looks so pretty and snug;
And her mouth's just as sweet as a corncob stopper
That comes out of a molasses jug.

The calf comes a-loping when the old cow calls,
And the possum dog comes to the horn;
And the grape vine climbs up the tall oak tree,
And the morning glory wraps around the corn.
And a fellow will turn around and come pretty quick,
When he hears that pretty gal laugh;
She hangs on his arm like a bird on a tree
As they both go walking up the path.

Her eyes give light like a foxfire chunk,
And her teeth are white as snow;
And the fellers in the cotton patch keep looking back
When they see her come chopping down the row.
She's gone crowd the hands where the crabgrass grows,
And kill the weeds as she goes;
She skippers up the furrow in a cloud of dust,
As she busts them clods with a hoe. (lyrics courtesy Carl Baron)

Recorded sources: Blue Ridge Institute BRI 005, The Shelor Family - "Virginia Traditions: Blue Ridge Piano Syles." RCA - LPV 552, "Early Rural String Bands."

__NORICHEDITOR__