Matabele Guitar

Down beside the trading store,
 An old man strums on his guitar
 Sitting, singing in the sun,
 Fingers play the same old run.
 The songs are clear, the songs are sweet,
 The ring and sing of dancing feet,
 They laugh with joy, they cry with fear
 And mingle in with village beer.
 And there's a million beautiful songs in a Matabele Guitar
 And I'll sing you a beautiful song from a Matabele Guitar.
 And there's a million beautiful songs in a Matabele Guitar
 And I'll sing you a beautiful song from a Matabele Guitar.
 Been a warrior in his time,
 He's dug for gold in Phoenix mine;
 Cut the Hippo Valley cane;
 Work a railroad in the rain.
 He sold his cattle, bought a wife,
 She bore him children, she gave him strife,
 Lost his crops in sour land;
 Fought a leopard with his hands.
 And there's a million beautiful songs in a Matabele Guitar
 And I'll sing you a beautiful song from a Matabele Guitar.
 And there's a million beautiful songs in a Matabele Guitar
 And I'll sing you a beautiful song from a Matabele Guitar.
 And there's a million beautiful songs in a Matabele Guitar
 And I'll sing you a beautiful song from a Matabele Guitar.
 And there's a million beautiful songs in a Matabele Guitar
 And I'll sing you a beautiful song from a Matabele Guitar.
 And there's a million beautiful songs in a Matabele Guitar
 And I'll sing you a beautiful song from a Matabele Guitar.
 And there's a million beautiful songs in a Matabele Guitar
 And I'll sing you a beautiful song from a Matabele Guitar.