| It was down by the forked stream
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| Out in Sycamore Holler
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| I went down in my best of dress
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| To take her from her father
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| With hair down to her waist
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| The color of strawberries
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| Down by the forked stream
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| By night fall we would marry
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| I sure love the farmer’s daughter
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| Back in Sycamore Holler
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| On a horse seventeen hands high
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| He rode in Sherman 's army
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| To Atlanta town against her will
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| He took my woman from me
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| Well I grabbed my knife and
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| Both of my guns
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| In a loud voice I did call her
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| Upon a lightning horse I swore once more
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| As I left Sycamore Holler
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| I will bring the farmer’s daughter
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| Back to Sycamore Holler
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| It was down by the river’s edge
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| I see the campfire flicker
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| Four dead men lay behind
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| As I leave that campsite with her
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| Now our children play in a forked stream
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| Out in Sycamore Holler
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| With a boy like me and a girl like her
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| We’ll always be together
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| I sure love the farmer’s daughter
|
| Down in Sycamore Holler |