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Granny White | davelovell.net
Nov 122010

I was reminded by a reader that I have not reposted some of my songs since my blog crashed dur­ing the great flood — so here’s one.  David Thorn­ton came to me with the idea of rewrit­ing a lit­tle local his­tory.… we came up with this and played it at the Bluebird.

Granny White”

Lovell & Thor­ton 2009 Peter Cass­ian Music

Trav­elin’ men were never bash­ful with work to do in Nashville,

Though weary from the rig­ors of the road

They gladly under­took their labors cause they knew the gen­tle favors that awaited them when they at last unload.


You could sing, you could dance, you could find romance,

You could get a lit­tle com­fort for the night

In the arms of her girls you were in another world

If you came inside the Inns of Granny White.


Horse-trader named Joe, with six mares in tow, wound his way along the dusty Trace,

With his mind set on his goods, just ahead and through the woods,

a sign appeared that made his slow his pace.

It said, “Enter, Granny White” and sure as morn­ing fol­lows night,

her rep­u­ta­tion brought some thoughts to mind

As the evenin’ light was fadin’, he did a lit­tle tradin’,

In the mornin’ he left two white mares behind.


Down the Trace there came a banker who pos­sessed a mighty hanker

And the deed to all that Granny thought was hers

As he made the bank’s demand, sweet-things took him by the hand,

And dis­pos­sessed him of his pur­pose and his purse.

In the morn­ing he departed, feel­ing warm and tender-hearted,

Wear­ing noth­ing but his suit­coat and a grin

Now into the Inn’s accounts there came cash in large amounts

And she knew he’d soon be comin’ back again.


Cir­cuit preacher of the Lord heard of the bawdy room and board

That tempted pil­grims on the nar­row way

Off he stomped to Granny’s Inn, raised his voice to preach of sin,

But soon found his firm resolve began to stray.

He con­fessed in later years, with lit­tle shame and happy tears,

I was jus­ti­fied for my erratic ways

I know well it was immoral, not too ter­ri­bly pastoral

But it filled me with a new desire to praise!


All the men­folk called her Lucy, but Lucinda White was choosy,

Till one night she met the client of her dreams

Said he was a sin­gle man, with a house and barn and land,

But trag­i­cally he was not all he seemed

One day with­out his know­ing, his wife learned where he was going

Rode ahead and lay in wait til they had supped

Well, the end of Granny White came on that dark and stormy night

With a rifle as a coitus interrupt.


Many men were in attendance

At the ser­vice of remembrance

Sob­bing loud as she was low­ered in her grave

Off the street that bears her name

They raised a marker to her fame

You can see the place where Granny White got laid.

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