IN THE HILLS OF OLD KENTUCKY
(Chas. L. Johnson / J.R. Shannon,   1914)


There's a rose that grows in old Kentucky, 
She's the sweetest girl I know, 
With eyes of blue, and manner, too, 
That have made me love her so. 
Where the lonely mountain trail is winding
'Round my old Kentucky home, 
To a simple old log cabin, 
That is where I soon will roam.

In my dreams I see the blue grass waving, 
And the meadow larks at play; 
They seem to call me back again to those hills far away, 
Where the winding trail is filled with sunshine, 
And the Rhododendron grows, 
Where the birds are ever singing 
To my own dear Mountain Rose.

In the hills of old Kentucky 
Where the birds sing merrily, 
And the Southern breeze is playing thru the trees, 
That is where I belong to be. 
O'er the mountain trail I'm going, 
Where my sweet wild flower grows, 
In the hills of old Kentucky 
To my Mountain Rose.