Seaboard rail line, Charleston-bound
Sashays skyward, one last round.
Herons and bitterns
with their heads hung down...
The old buckdancer's gone!

The fiddler squeals in the cotton gin.
He strikes a match and invites us in.
Guitar, banjo, mandolin
Play the old buckdancer's song!

CHORUS
Sweet Jocassee, make my bed.
My dreams are loose and the moon is red.
With so much music left unsaid...
The old buckdancer's gone!

There is no star for me to climb
To scan the sky for one last rhyme,
So I'll borrow one from him this time...
The old buckdancer's gone!

The Santee's burning at the source.
It veers unfettered from its course
Like some alligator tidal force...
The old buckdancer's gone!

CHORUS
Sweet Jocassee, make my bed.
My dreams are loose and the moon is red,
With worlds of music left unsaid...
The old buckdancer's gone!

The dancer witnessed blood and fire,
He saw with the seers and lied to the liars,
And bled for every heart's desire...
The old buckdancer's gone!

So give me one last spin around
With every pretty girl in town.
Bury me in a live oak crown...
And dance all over my grave!

CHORUS
Sweet Jocassee, make my bed.
My dreams are loose and the moon is red,
With worlds of music left unsaid...
The old buckdancer's gone!
The old buckdancer's gone!

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