Fitzgerald

The small town of Fitzgerald
In the southern Georgia pines
There was farming, ginning cotton
And mills of turpentine
The word went out to veterans
Who wore the Union blue
Come populate this country
Then the Southern boys came too

“How will they coexist?” some asked
“How will they quell the hate
“The awful, endless horror
“Of the War Between the States?”
“We’ve put aside our uniforms
“This senselessness should cease
“We’re worn out by this war,” they said
“And long to live in peace.”

The differences were many
But the problems they were few
There was land and opportunity
And honest work to do
The pines provided lumber
And a town rose from the clay
And lived in seeming harmony
Until that that fateful day

They planned a celebration
For thanksgiving late that year
The day rose up that morning
In a perfect sky so clear
They dusted off their uniforms
Polished brass and braid
And the old men gathered one last time
For one last, grand parade

The city fathers argued
Who should be last, who first?
The town filleed every street and path
Preparing for the worst
When suddenly they all appeared
And each heart swelled with pride
As these former Yanks and Johnny Rebs
Came marching side by side

And we all sang “Yankee Doodle,”
And “Dixie” on that day
Their war is finally over
Oh, Fitzgerald, look away
Glory, glory hallelujah
Look away, boys, look away

June 8, 2012
Avondale Estates, GA
©2012 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)