WHERE THE NIANGUA RIVER WINDS ITS WAY

 

The Niangua is a stream which you all know,

And it always down stream does flow.

And some people say it starts from rain,

But the most of it comes from the Bennetts Spring.

The spring puts out about 71,000,000 gallons per day,

And we all hope it continues that way.

Between the hills, so the people all say

Is where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

There in Brice in the town of noise,

A store is run by the Bringleson boys.

They and their wives are mighty good folks,

And are always full of funny jokes.

And anything you want, go there to buy,

For they always have a real good supply.

They wait on you any time in the day,

By where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

Brice is a real good place,

But the wild animals stare you in the face.

It's a bad place to be by yourself in the dark,

For fear of the animals in the park.

And if you hear a rip saw bang,

Get out of the way for old Rangotang. (Virgil Sharp)

But if he gets after me, I sure won't stay,

For I'll go where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

There is Mr. Keith on the Dock Smith place.

He is a man that can look you in the face.

And is good hearted and a jolly guy,

Who takes everything as it comes by.

If it is hard luck, he has nothing to say,

But he makes his living

Where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

Next is Jim Smith just down below,

He is a man which we all know.

And he does know just how

To make his living by the sweat of his brow.

He has some boys that are no use,

But they will pass as a poor excuse.

But they plow the corn and put up the hay,

Then go in swimming

Where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

Now, on lower down in one of the turns,

Lives a good man by the name of Burns.

Yes, he is a guy with a good mind,

And as lively as anyone of his kind.

I think his given name is Bill,

And he lives at the foot of a hill.

If he owes you, don't worry, for he is good to pay,

Because he lives

Where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

The next down below is J.P. and Lee Clark,

And either one of them is as happy as a lark.

They raise corn, hogs and several cattle,

And when spring comes, their money they rattle.

Some people jingle their money in the fall,

While others jingle none at all.

Then they set back and say,

We live,

Where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

Across the river is Allen, T.D.,

If he is as funny as he use to be,

Yes, I could stay there for a year and a half,

And every two minutes I would laugh.

For I am just as big a fool

As I was when his boys and I went to school.

We would get in a tree and swing and sway,

Where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

Our next door neighbor is F.M. Payne,

And I can't tell but what he is the same.

He was Mr. Payne long years ago,

And is still that way as far as I know.

He lives on the Lark Jennings place,

And goes most of the time in a pace.

He says, stay with it boys, till it does pay,

Where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

Now is W.M. Collier who lives on a good farm,

And he is one guy that does no harm.

Yes sir, he works from sun to sun,

And keeps hanging on till his work is done.

Then he takes his gun and hunts o'possom, coon or fox,

And puts his money in a wooden box.

If he gets tired, down he will lay,

Where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

And Mike Prater lives on the Barclay place,

When it comes to making money, he will show you a race.

I've always heard his place was dry, but it's no such thing,

The river on one side, and the other a spring.

The name of the spring is Barclay,

And in the clear water the trout does lay.

And the stream goes on the same every day,

To where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

And T.M. Bradshaw is the next man,

He seems to be doing the best he can.

But never was so very awful fast,

And he will keep on this way to the last.

He is a man with several needs,

But raises a little corn and plenty of weeds.

He lets his farm all go astray,

Where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

Just a year or two ago, from the land of Berch,

There came a man called Whitechurch.

This is what I heard and I guess it's so,

That his given name must be Joe.

He planted a corn crop, I know not where,

But he raised a plant called the cocklebur.

On the Fred L. Johnson place is where he does stay,

Where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

And unless I am foolish or as green as a gourd,

We have landed at the Corkery Ford.

We came from Brice in this way,

Not one bridge did we see, I'm sorry to say.

So if anyone comes from the ridge,

Just ford the river and not cross the bridge.

For it's not finished yet and likely to sway,

Over where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

There is an old fellow that is full of vim,

And I believe they call him Breech, C.M.

He runs a mill at the end of the lane,

And he grinds your corn, yes every grain.

If you take it husk, cob and all,

He grinds it that way or not at all.

He will grind it just like you say,

By where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

This is just part of Corkery, but there is more,

For B.F. Davison still runs the store.

And he sells "everything" like sugar and beans,

And sometimes lard to season greens.

Now you think this is the wrong time of the year,

But it isn't, for the greens are always here.

Yes, I trade there just every day,

By where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

The next farm is run by Bradshaw Heck,

And he raises corn by the peck.

His farm is advertised with the noise,

Put out by a gang of old silly boys.

But Sam is the worst, for he can squall,

And hasn't got any sense at all.

We hope that he won't always stay,

Around where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

The bullfrog doesn't jump from bank to bank,

When he hears of Bringleson Frank.

Or you don't see many bass or trout,

For they are all on the look-out.

They all know him for one reason,

He keeps fishermen through the summer season.

They come there and two or three weeks stay,

Where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

Fishermen float from Brice on down,

And they catch the fish as they come around.

Then they get a frog under the chin in some nook,

He will take his hind legs and paw at the hook,

He will hang with his feet in the air,

And shut his eyes and snort and tear.

But he will hang and kick like that all day,

Where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

Now the last I have on my mind,

Is Mr. and Mrs. A.J. Cline.

But I won't do like he has done,

Just keep on farming at the age of eight-one.

He is as spry as a cricket, and quick as a cat,

But I wouldn't last long at that.

He has got me skinned I am sorry to say,

Where the Niangua River winds its way.

 

Written by old SAM BRADSHAW

Corkery, Missouri