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THE DEVIL WENT DOWN TO GEORGIA
by The Charlie Daniels Band
The Devil went down to Georgia,
He was lookin' for a soul to steal,
He was in a bind, 'cause he was way behind,
And he was willin' to make a deal.
When he came upon this young man,
Sawin' on a fiddle and playin' it hot,
And the Devil jumped up on a hickory stump,
And said, "Boy, let me tell you what!
I guess you didn't know it,
But I'm a fiddle player too,
And if you'd care to take a dare,
I'll make a bet with you.
Now you play a pretty good fiddle, boy,
But give the Devil his due,
I'll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul,
'Cause I think I'm better than you!"
The boy said, "My name's Johnny,
And it might be a sin,
But I'll take your bet, and you're gonna regret,
'Cause I'm the best there's ever been!"
Johnny, rosin up your bow and play your fiddle hard,
'Cause hell's broke loose in Georgia,
And the Devil deals the cards,
And if you win, you get this shiny fiddle made of gold,
But if you lose, the Devil gets your soul.
The Devil opened up his case,
And he said, "I'll start this show",
And fire flew from his fingertips,
As he rosined up his bow.
Then he pulled the bow across the strings,
And it made an evil hiss,
And a band of demons joined in,
And it sounded something like this...
When the Devil finished,
Johnny said, "Well, you're pretty good, old son!
But sit down in that chair right there,
And let me show you how it's done!"
He played Fire on the Mountain run boys, run,
The Devil's in the House of the Rising Sun,
Chicken in a bread pan pickin' out dough,
Granny, does your dog bite? No child, no.
The Devil bowed his head,
Because he knew that he'd been beat,
And he laid that golden fiddle,
On the ground at Johnny's feet.
Johnny said, "Devil, just come on back,
If you ever want to try again.
I done told you once, you son of a bitch,
I'm the best that's ever been!"
He played Fire on the Mountain, run boys, run,
The Devil's in the House of the Rising Sun,
Chicken in a bread pan pickin' out dough,
Granny, does your dog bite? No child, no.
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THE DEVIL WENT DOWN TO HORSHAM
by The Fields Of Finian String Ensemble
One day, the Devil, he visited Horsham,
(To Barns Green, to be precise).
His demeanour, everyone would say,
Was unkind, ornery...not very nice!
He took out his pointy double bass,
(He'd painted it in a sanguine red,
To intimidate young Chris Sturdy..."HSP",
In a low-down shoot-out, head-to-head).
He duly strode into the Village Hall, high noon,
Eyeing various individuals playing Scrabble,
He boomed, "Hey you! You're this bull-fiddle guy, huh?"
Said HSP, "Why, indeedy! I dabble!"
To uncouth, ungodly laughing,
The Devil, he duly made a hideous start,
(Loose 'E' for to blame for an annoying sound,
Like a hippo's runny fart).
Then he ruined 'Touch' (by Stanley Clarke),
Everyone dumbfounded, awed, mouth agape...
By jove! An unholy noise like a tinful of spanners,
Down an iron fire escape.
HSP, he took over, undaunted,
He gave Lucifer what for!
He did a dynamite 'Johnny Got A Boom Boom'...
'Moondance'...'The Lovecats', by The Cure.
He straddled it, slapped it good, so good,
In a jaunty 'Rockabilly Rebel',
An astounding, and thunderous, window-rattling sound,
Woody, with a lack of treble.
The two lines in 'Walk On The Wild Side',
He even did at the same time!
In 'Runaway Boys' (by The Stray Cats),
His intonation was indeed sublime!
He did 'Hound Dog', and 'Heartbreak Hotel' too,
While blindfolded, one hand tied behind his back,
A just insane 'Flight Of The Bumblebee',
Fire-eating, spinning a plate stack.
He did a fine, fluid Haydn fugue, with the bow,
Then laid it defiantly down onstage,
The jealous Devil's face was red as his bass,
It just contorted in satanic rage.
This highly-intense half-marathon done,
HSP was no doubt indeed drained.
The dejected Devil was distraught, though,
The indignity! I kid you not, he was pained!
"You keep this humiliation to yourself,
Your Majesty I implore you!", weepy Old Nick begs...
Owned, he flounced out, back up to Rochester,
In ignominy, tail between his legs.
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