Robert E. Reed

Robert E. Reed

 Springboro, Ohio, USA

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Written By: Robert E. Reed

© 2011 Robert E. Reed
183 Meadowview Ct.
Springboro, OH 45066

Verse 1 I came into this world with little celebration
Deep in the misty mountains of the Appalachian
Daddy raised tobacco, sweatin’ dirt on a hillside farm
Just a couple of acres and a faded red, run-down barn

Channel When the sun went down, a cool evening breeze would blow
We all gathered around to hear the stories Daddy told

Chorus He was a front porch poet
In faded dungarees, a rockin’ chair that creaked
He was a front porch poet
But his words sounded like an angel talking just to me

Verse 2 Tried on a suit one time, said he just couldn’t stand it
He liked to talk about that old dog he called bandit
He got drunk in his youth, tore a little bar into pieces
Then he said he found Mama, then he found Jesus

Channel And out of the blue, he made up a tune
We all would sing

(Repeat Chorus)

Bridge Now I’m grown . . . singin’ on the road and on my own
I left the mountains . . . but I know the mountains . . .
They’ll always be my home

Final Chorus Cause I’m the front porch poet
Wearin’ faded jeans, writin’ songs to sing
Yea, I’m the front porch poet
And Daddy is that angel talkin’ just to me