Here are a few songs from the Dillards I felt like posting the lyrics to, so I did; here goes:

There is a Time
There is a time for love and laughter,
The days will pass like summer storms;
The winter winds will follow after,
But there is love and love is warm.

Chorus:

There is a time for us to wander,
When time is young and so are we;
The woods are greener over yonder;
The path is new and the world is free.

There is a time when leaves are fallin',
The woods are gray, the paths are old;
The snow will come when geese are calling',
You need a fire against the cold.

Chorus

So do your roamin' in the springtime,
You'll find your love and a summer sun;
The frost will come and bring a harvest,
And you can rest when the day is done.

Chorus

DOOLEY:
Now Dooley was a good old man, he lived below the mill,
Dooley had two daughters and a forty gallon still.
One gal watched the boiler, the other watched the spout,
And mama corked the bottles when old Dooley fetched em' out.

Dooley, slippin' up the holler,
Dooley, trying to make a dollar,
Dooley, give me a swallow
and I'll pay you back someday.

The revenuers came for him, slippin' through the woods,
Dooley kept behind them, though and never lost his goods.
Dooley was a trader, when into town he'd come,
Sugar by the bushel and mollases by the drum.

Chorus

Now I remember very well, the day old Dooley died,
The women folk looked sorry and the men stood around and cried.
Now Dooley's on the mountain, he lies there all alone,
They put a jug beside him and a barrel for a stone.

Chorus

EBO WALKER

Now Ebo Walker was born in Kentucky, and raised by his daddy on a hillside farm,
He took up fiddle playing just for fun, that's the last work Ebo Walker done.

Well Ebo Walker left Kentucky
cause Ebo's daddy said durn your hide,
You won't plant corn, and you won't make hay,
you sit on the porch and play that thing all day.

Well Ebo Walker, he walked and he fiddled and he walked and he fiddled and he drank till he died,

But I've heard tell when the winds are down and the moon shines bright, and the leaves are brown,
You can hear old Ebo Walker all around.

The Old Home Place:

It's been ten long years since I left my home
In the hollow where I was born
Where the cool fall nights makes the woods glow bright
And the fox hunter blows his horn

I feel in love with a girl from the town
I thought that she would be true
I ran away to Charlottesville
And worked in a job in the town

What have you done to the old home place
Why did they tear it down
And why did I leave the plow in the fields
And look for the job in the town

Well the girl ran off with somebody else
The tariffs took all my pay
And here I stand where the old home stood
Before they took it away

Now the geese fly south and the cold wind blows
As I stand here and hang my head
I've lost my love I've lost my home
And now I wish that I was dead

* Refrain

Never Hit Your Grandma With A Great Big Stick

Used to stay at granny’s house, back in Tennessee
Just a dear old lady, as grandmas tend to be
Cousin Bufords slingshot whacked her in the face
I think Bufords buried there, somewhere on the place

Chorus:
Never Hit Your Grandma
With A Great Big Stick
She may do the cookin’
And make you mighty sick
Granny’s got a temper, boy
When you make her sore
People who make granny mad
Don’t live here any more

Granny’s face is wrinkled, hair as white as snow
Gentle eyes that twinkle, rosy cheeks aglow
Once a nasty neighbor pulled granny’s silver hair
Spent a lot of idle time in intensive care

Chorus

LITTLE MAGGIE (Traditional song arranged by Bob Dylan)1992 Special Rider Music

Oh, where is little Maggie?
Over yonder she stands.
Rifle on her shoulder,
Six-shooter in her hand.

How can I ever stand it,
Just to see them two blue eyes,
Shinin' like some diamonds,
Like some diamonds in the sky.

Rather be in some lonely hollow
Where the sun don't ever shine,
Than to see you be another man's darling,
And to know that you'll never be mine.

Well, it's march me away to the station
With my suitcase in my hand.
Yes, march me away to the station,
I'm off to some far-distant land.

Sometimes I have a nickel,
And sometimes I have a dime.
Sometimes I have ten dollars,
Just to pay for little Maggie's wine.

Pretty flowers are made for blooming,
Pretty stars are made to shine.
Pretty girls are made for boy's love,
Little Maggie was made for mine.

Well, yonder stands little Maggie
With a dram glass in her hand,
She's a drinkin' down her troubles
Over courtin' some other man