Songwriter: Michael Martin Murphey
Producer: John Boylan
When the train pulled into the station
Rolled up his sleeves, rosined up his bow
Fiddle upside down, orange blossom special
'Cause if you want to make a living you got to put on a good show
When he'd smell the smoke and the cinders
Slick back his hair, opened up his case
Play Cherokee Fiddle, he'd play it for the whiskey
'Cause good whiskey never let him lose his place
He was always there, playing for the miners
Devil's dream was a song they understood
Then he'd go out to Oklahoma and he'd wait till the trains
Were running and the weather was good
When he'd smell the smoke and the cinders
Slick back his hair, opened up his case
Play Cherokee Fiddle, he'd play it for the whiskey
'Cause good whiskey never let him lose his place
Now the Indians are dressing up like cowboys
And the cowboys are putting feathers and turquoise on
And the music is sold by lawyers
And the fools who fiddled in the middle of the station have gone
Some folks say they ain't never gonna miss him
Old Fiddle squealed like the engines brakes
Cherokee Fiddle, he's gone forever
Just like the music of the whistle that the old locomotives made
So when you smell the smoke and the cinders
Slick back your hair, open up your case
Play the Cherokee Fiddle, play it for the whiskey
'Cause good whiskey will never let you lose your place
No, good whiskey will never let you lose your place
No, good whiskey will never let you lose your place
Rolled up his sleeves, rosined up his bow
Fiddle upside down, orange blossom special
'Cause if you want to make a living you got to put on a good show
When he'd smell the smoke and the cinders
Slick back his hair, opened up his case
Play Cherokee Fiddle, he'd play it for the whiskey
'Cause good whiskey never let him lose his place
He was always there, playing for the miners
Devil's dream was a song they understood
Then he'd go out to Oklahoma and he'd wait till the trains
Were running and the weather was good
When he'd smell the smoke and the cinders
Slick back his hair, opened up his case
Play Cherokee Fiddle, he'd play it for the whiskey
'Cause good whiskey never let him lose his place
Now the Indians are dressing up like cowboys
And the cowboys are putting feathers and turquoise on
And the music is sold by lawyers
And the fools who fiddled in the middle of the station have gone
Some folks say they ain't never gonna miss him
Old Fiddle squealed like the engines brakes
Cherokee Fiddle, he's gone forever
Just like the music of the whistle that the old locomotives made
So when you smell the smoke and the cinders
Slick back your hair, open up your case
Play the Cherokee Fiddle, play it for the whiskey
'Cause good whiskey will never let you lose your place
No, good whiskey will never let you lose your place
No, good whiskey will never let you lose your place