| Song | Mountain Fern |
| Artist | Laura Cantrell |
| Album | When The Roses Bloom Again |
| 作曲 : Cantrell | |
| She left her home on the mountain as a young girl. | |
| And she travelled and rambled all through the wide world. | |
| And the world was | |
| Kentucky, and then | |
| Tennessee, | |
| West Virginia to | |
| Texas, everything in between. | |
| And her name would be different from place to place, | |
| And her heart might get heavy sometimes. | |
| With a worn prayer book in her guitar case, | |
| In a boarding house room, her banjo she plays. | |
| And the wind blows the mountain fern, | |
| She sways and bends in the breeze. | |
| And our Dixie | |
| Darlin' is callin' him, | |
| She's fallin' right down to her knees. | |
| Do you know who to please? | |
| The road it got dusty, hot, long and hard. | |
| Travellin' night noon and mornin' in an old | |
| Packard car. | |
| An' though she found fame and fortune on the radio waves, | |
| Well, it never came easy and she longed to be saved. | |
| Those hills in | |
| Knoxville with their fine white mist, | |
| Settled over everything. | |
| Put a chill in her heart like the devil's kiss: | |
| In the morning light turns to the | |
| King. And the wind blows the mountain fern, | |
| She sways and bends in the breeze. | |
| And our Dixie | |
| Darlin' is callin' him, | |
| She's fallin' right down to her knees. | |
| She finally knows who to please. | |
| And it feels so good to hear your voice, | |
| Rising up with mine, | |
| Oh, that is a joyous noise. | |
| And I hope someday you will understand why my song, | |
| Must be sung for | |
| Him, played for | |
| Him, Written for | |
| Him as they're given by him, yes. | |
| Ooooooh. |
| zuò qǔ : Cantrell | |
| She left her home on the mountain as a young girl. | |
| And she travelled and rambled all through the wide world. | |
| And the world was | |
| Kentucky, and then | |
| Tennessee, | |
| West Virginia to | |
| Texas, everything in between. | |
| And her name would be different from place to place, | |
| And her heart might get heavy sometimes. | |
| With a worn prayer book in her guitar case, | |
| In a boarding house room, her banjo she plays. | |
| And the wind blows the mountain fern, | |
| She sways and bends in the breeze. | |
| And our Dixie | |
| Darlin' is callin' him, | |
| She' s fallin' right down to her knees. | |
| Do you know who to please? | |
| The road it got dusty, hot, long and hard. | |
| Travellin' night noon and mornin' in an old | |
| Packard car. | |
| An' though she found fame and fortune on the radio waves, | |
| Well, it never came easy and she longed to be saved. | |
| Those hills in | |
| Knoxville with their fine white mist, | |
| Settled over everything. | |
| Put a chill in her heart like the devil' s kiss: | |
| In the morning light turns to the | |
| King. And the wind blows the mountain fern, | |
| She sways and bends in the breeze. | |
| And our Dixie | |
| Darlin' is callin' him, | |
| She' s fallin' right down to her knees. | |
| She finally knows who to please. | |
| And it feels so good to hear your voice, | |
| Rising up with mine, | |
| Oh, that is a joyous noise. | |
| And I hope someday you will understand why my song, | |
| Must be sung for | |
| Him, played for | |
| Him, Written for | |
| Him as they' re given by him, yes. | |
| Ooooooh. |