A Local Lass
A local lass, sang in the bar
How she could hold a tune.
When she sang, her silken voice
Entranced the crowded room.
A guitar strummed, a tambourine crashed
There were strains of a violin,
But above it all, this young girls voice
Soft, and sweet as sin.
Her hypnotic voice filled the air,
As she sang out, threw back her hair,
Frenzied feet stamped the floor,
They clapped so hard, their hands were sore.
She had the menfolk in her spell,
This village girl, so young and sweet.
For when this lass gave them a song,
She had them falling at her feet.
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