Appalachian Air

{C,F}Down from {G}Carolina come the {C}Smokeys,

{F}Dancing from the {G}Blue Ridge in the {C}light,

{F}Mist around the {G}mountains in the {C}mor{Am}ning.

{F}Peaks against the {G}purple of the {C}night.

And she {F}rode down with the {G}mountains through the {C}leaves that whisper {Am}there.

To Hia{F}wassee, Lake Cha{G}tuge, and the {C}Georgia Mountain {Am}Fair,

To be with {F}me and Angel{G}ina in the {F}music of the {G}Appalachian {C}air.

I {F}found her up near {G}Asheville on the {C}Parkway,

Half{F}way from Boston {G}down to New Or{C}leans.

We {F}floated with the {G}leaves in my old {C}pickup{Am},

She and {F}I and Angel{G}ina and our {C}dreams.

{Repeat second stanza.}

On the {F}road we talked of {G}all the wars we’d {C}been through,

From New York {F}streets out to the {G}San Francisco {C}bay,

How New {F}Orleans always {G}charmed us with its {C}mu{Am}sic,

But the {F}mountains were so {G}lovely in the {C}day.

{Repeat second stanza.}

She {F}pulled her harp out {G}from her jacket {C}pocket,

Her {F}strains played sweet and {G}clearly through the {C}mist.

We {F}sang the songs we’d {G}taken from our {C}wander{Am}ings.

We {F}sailed them through the {G}sunlight with the {C}wind.

{Repeat second stanza.}

{F}Someday we may {G}go back to New {C}Orleans,

{F}Wail the river’s {G}ancient muddy {C}tears.

But for {F}now the mountains {G}hold us in their {C}moon{Am}light.

Like the {F}leaves we float to{G}gether softly {C}here.