Gathering Clouds

by Spence's Rye

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  • Immediate download of 5-track album in your choice of high-quality MP3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.

     

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released 14 April 2013

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Spence's Rye West Virginia

Better living through old-time music! Spence's Rye pays homage to the mountain music of Appalachia. The music is a haunting amalgam of various oldtime styles, enthusiastic playing, and select original tunes. From traditional to tin-pan alley,  Spence's Rye takes traditional Appalachian back to its roots in lonesome, solitary performance. ... more

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Track Name: Whisky Johnny
Whiskey is the life of man, Whiskey Johnny. I'll drink Whiskey, when I can. Whiskey for Johnny. Whiskey killed my Dad, it drove my Mother mad Whiskey Johnny.

Whiskey here and whiskey there, Whiskey Johnny. I'll drink Whiskey everywhere. Whiskey for Johnny. Whiskey stout and strong, drink it all night long Whiskey Johnny.

Whiskey up and whiskey down, Whiskey Johnny. Whiskey all over the town. Whiskey for Johnny. Whiskey killed my Dad, it drove my mother mad Whiskey Johnny.

Whiskey gets too near my nose, Whiskey Johnny. I tip it up and down it goes, Whiskey for Johnny. Whiskey stout and strong, drink it all night long Whiskey Johnny.

Whiskey is the life of man, Whiskey Johnny. Drink it from an old tin can, Whiskey for Johnny. Whiskey killed my Dad, it drove my mother mad Whiskey Johnny.

Whiskey made me pawn my clothes, Whiskey Johnny. Whiskey gave me this broken nose, Whiskey for Johnny. Whiskey stout and strong, drink it all night long Whiskey Johnny.
Track Name: Potter's Field
In the city of the dead, where numbered stones stand over their heads. There sleep the ones the world had shunned, because the courts said they'd done wrong.

Now the jury might have been at fault in placing them in this prison vault, and the judge could have more lenient been, for to be accused is not a sin.

Now the court decreed that they must go, and thus told the lawman so. Sons of Adam now gather round, take a walk over the burial ground.

Where sleep the brothers of your race, view the last sad resting place. Of the one that died in a felons cell, no pen of man can ever tell.

Of the suffering endured, or the sad farewell in the potters field and all alone. Under numbers cut in tall white stone, may they sleep in peace as time rolls on.