Bluegrass Ballads

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We have blest the good old rifle Of Kentucky and renown.
It is long, and grim, and rusty,
And out of date its lock, And tarnished are the mountings
In brass upon its stock, But we love the ancient weapon,
Resting high against the wall; That old Kentucky rifle,
On the buckhorns in the hall.
By the date and letters graven
On its butt, we understand That our grandsire was its master,
And in his sturdy hand It cleared the way for progress,
Thro' many a savage fray, To where 'tis dumbly hanging
On the buckhorns there today.
Thro' trial and the wilderness,
His faithful guard and guide, 'Twas cherished by that hardy soul,
And 'twas his boast and pride. Now, 'mong the rich bequests he left
The dearest of them all Is the long Kentucky rifle
On the buckhorns in the hall.