Major Lunceford

John Miller walked alone

Through the winter cold

The blizzard came down hard and fast

Threatened to make this walk John’s last


Lantern light flickered

In a cottage window by the mountain road

John pounded in fright upon the little door

Old Major Lunceford harkened in fright or anger

Behind the rickety door

Pulled the trigger and the old twelve gauge

Exploded with a roar


Blew a hole into the door

Just over John Miller’s head

For a while there John didn’t know

If he was alive or if he was dead

But he knew for certain Old Major Lunceford

Was a mite teched in the head.

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