It s a nickel for the fiddler
It s a nickel for his tune
It s a nickel for the tambourine kind of afternoon
And it s a high holiday on the twenty-first of June
And it s country music in the park
And everybody s ruined
It s fountains full of dogs and kids
And it s streaky apple pie
It s the ones who came to play
And the ones just passin by
It s coats of many colors
And it almost makes me cry
It s ice cream on a stick
And it s somethin you can t buy
It s a fiddler from Kentucky
Who swears he s eighty three
And he s fiddled every contest
From here to Cripple Creek
It s old ones and it s young ones
And it s plain they have agreed
And it s country music in the park
As far as they can see
