’Way down in Fentress County in the hills of Tennessee
Lived Alvin York, a simple country lad.
He spent his happy childhood with his brothers on the farm,
Or at the blacksmith shop with busy dad.
He could play a hand of poker, hold his liquor like a man,
He did his share of prankin’ in his youth;
But his dying father left him with the family in his care,
And he quickly sought the ways of God and truth.
Then came the mighty World War in the year of seventeen,
And Uncle Sam sent out his call for men.
Poor Alvin’s heart was heavy for he knew that he must go,
And his Church contended “fighting was a sin.”
He never questioned orders and did the best he could,
And soon a corporal he came to be;
He was known throughout the country as the army’s fighting ace,
Beloved in every branch of infantry.
The eighth day of October the Argonne battle raged,
Machine guns whined and rifle bullets flew;
Then Alvin lost his temper, he said, “I’ve had enough,
I’ll show these Huns what Uncle Sam can do.”
He took his army rifle and his automatic too,
And hid himself behind a nearby tree;
He shot them like he used to shoot the rabbits and the squirrels
Away back home in sunny Tennessee.
He took the whole battalion—one-hundred-thirty-two—
While thirty-five machine guns ceased to fire;
And twenty German soldiers lay lifeless on the ground
As he marched his prisoners through the bloody mire.
His name was not forgotten, a hero brave was he,
Our country proudly hailed his fearless deeds;
He was offered fame and fortune but for these he did not care,
His daily toil supplied his simple needs.
“I want nothing for myself” he said, “but for the boys and girls,
Who live here in the hills of Tennessee,
I’d like to have a school for them to teach them how to farm
And raise their families in security.”
His wish was quickly granted. At Jamestown, Tennessee,
There stands a school, the mountains’ joy and pride;
And with his wife and children in the hills he loves so well,
He hopes in peace forever to abide.
—Jilson Setters
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