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Way up in the North Atlantic where the chilly breezes blow,
It was just like down in Dixie where magnolia blossoms grow;
An ol' rebel from the sixties accompained by his band,
Was singin' good old country tunes in outport Newfoundland.
A world away from West Virginia, Alabam' and Tennessee,
But he sang the songs of the honky tonks and the Opry on TV;
He picked the Wildwood Flower and Ol' Strawberry Roan,
Just like they did in Memphis or down in San Antone.
Fishing was his livelihood but he always fancied more,
With his guitar and his pretty girl he'd rather hang ashore;
He had hoped one day to see his name in flashing neon lights,
On a marquee down in Nashville on Grand Ole Opry night.
He was a picker and a singer, he was country all the way,
He would have giv'n a million dollars to hear Roy Acuff say,
Make welcome to the Opry, give him a great big hand;
Here's the Honky Tonkin' Hangashore all the way from Newfoundland.
He sang the songs of Eddie Arnold, Hank Wiliams and Hank Snow,
Was a fan of Marty Robbins, Johnny Cash and Bill Monroe;
He loved Waylon and Willie, Hank Jr. and Buck Owens,
Merle Haggart, Conway Twitty, M-M-M-Mel Tillis and George Jones.
He knew the end was coming, he was in his golden years,
His life was just a broken dream and it seemed nobody cared,
For the songs about the cowboy on the western prarie trails,
Or about the lonesome hobo on the endless miles of rails.
He'd had enough of living, enough of slammin' doors,
Death was peaceful when it came, his heart could take no more;
Now on a marquee up in heaven all the stars are shining bright,
But the brightest is the North Star on Grand Ol' Opry Night.
He was a picker and a singer, he was country all the way,
He would have giv'n a million dollars to hear Roy Acuff say,
Make welcome to the Opry, give him a great big hand;
Here's the Honky Tonkin' Hangashore all the way from Newfoundland.
