by Alan Cameron and Ted Weems
Time out from Lucy’s poetry to share a little verbal snapshot of Lucy and her sister, Barbara from a time – maybe 30 years ago – when the two performed a delightful old song about two feuding mountain families. If memory serves (which, more often than not, it doesn’t), their church had a talent show and this was their hilarious contribution. Picture two gray-haired ladies in overalls and straw hats, up on the stage at the front of a church full of their fellow parishioners….Here’s what they sang:
Gather 'round me children and I'll tell a story
Of the mountains and the days when guns was law
When two families got to feudin', it was bound to end in shootin'
So just listen close, I'll tell you what I saw
Oh, the Martins and the Coys they was reckless mountain boys
And they took up family feudin' when they'd meet
They would shoot each other quicker than it took your eye to flicker
They could knock a squirrel's eye out at ninety feet.
All this fightin' started out one Sunday mornin'
When old Grandpa Coy was full of mountain dew
Just as quiet as a churchmouse, he stole in the Martins' henhouse
Cause the Coys they needed eggs for breakfast, too
Oh, the Martins and the Coys they was reckless mountain boys
Coz old Grandpa Coy's gone where the angels live
When they found him on the mountain he was bleedin' like a fountain
Cause they punctured him 'til he looked like a sieve.
After that they started out to fight in earnest
And they scarred the mountains up with shot and shell
There was uncles, brothers, cousins, why they bumped 'em off by dozens
Just how many bit the dust is hard to tell.
Oh, the Martins and the Coys, they was reckless mountain boys
At the art of killin' they become quite deft
They all know'd they shouldn't do it but before they hardly knew it
On each side they only had one person left.
Now the sole remaining Martin was a maiden
And as purty as a picture was this Grace
While the one remaining boy was the handsome Henry Coy
And the folks all knew they'd soon meet face to face.
Oh the Martins and the Coys, they was reckless mountain boys
But their shootin' and their killin' sure played hob
And it didn't bring no joy to know that Grace and Henry Coy
Both had sworn that they should finish up the job.
So they finally met upon a mountain pathway
And young Henry Coy he aimed his gun at Grace
He was set to pull the trigger when he saw her purty figure
You could see that love had kicked him in the face.
Oh the Martins and the Coys they was reckless mountain boys
But they say their ghostly cussin' gave them chills
But the hatchet sure was buried when sweet Grace and Henry married
It broke up the best durn feud in these here hills.
You may think this is where the story ended
But I'm tellin' you the ghosts don't cuss no more
Coz since Grace and Henry wedded
They fight worse than all the rest did
And they carry on the feud just like before.
Woodsmoke and Cardamom 