| When the train pulled into the station
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| Rolled up his sleeves, rosined up his bow
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| Fiddle upside down, orange blossom special
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| 'Cause if you want to make a living you got to put on a good show
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| When he’d smell the smoke and the cinders
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| Slick back his hair, opened up his case
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| Play Cherokee Fiddle, he’d play it for the whiskey
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| 'Cause good whiskey never let him lose his place
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| He was always there, playing for the miners
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| Devil’s dream was a song they understood
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| Then he’d go out to Oklahoma and he’d wait till the trains
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| Were running and the weather was good
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| When he’d smell the smoke and the cinders
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| Slick back his hair, opened up his case
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| Play Cherokee Fiddle, he’d play it for the whiskey
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| 'Cause good whiskey never let him lose his place
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| Now the Indians are dressing up like cowboys
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| And the cowboys are putting feathers and turquoise on
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| And the music is sold by lawyers
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| And the fools who fiddled in the middle of the station have gone
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| Some folks say they ain’t never gonna miss him
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| Old Fiddle squealed like the engines brakes
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| Cherokee Fiddle, he’s gone forever
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| Just like the music of the whistle that the old locomotives made
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| So when you smell the smoke and the cinders
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| Slick back your hair, open up your case
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| Play the Cherokee Fiddle, play it for the whiskey
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| 'Cause good whiskey will never let you lose your place
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| No, good whiskey will never let you lose your place
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| No, good whiskey will never let you lose your place |