I came to old Kentucky in the year of '82,
When Uncle Sam was just a hungry lad.
The war had killed a lot of men
And left their women free,
So I got the widder fever mighty bad.
I squired 'em in the country
And I squired 'em in the town,
And every gal I courted was a queen.
I didn't mind the fever 'till a feller says to me,
Well there ain't a widder left in Bowling Green.
Hang up the fiddle and the banjo,
Lay down the tambourine.
The boys keep a comin and a taken up the land,
And there ain't a widder left in Bowling Green.
The widder fever settled in my old back bone
And it got into my liver and my spleen.
The doctor said I'd help you,
But there's nothing I can do,
'Cause there ain't a widder left in Bowling Green.
I ordered me a dozen from the state of Caroline,
But I had the hardest luck you ever seen.
The neighbors stopped the wagon train
And took 'em every one,
And there ain't a widder left in Bowling Green.
There's widders down in Jersey
And there's widders up in Maine,
And they say there's plenty down in New Orleans.
There's widders up in Canady and down in Mexico.
But there ain't a widder left in Bowling Green.
I don't need a woman like I did when I was young,
Though it's gettin mighty lonesome on the shelf.
But if I can do without 'em for another 100 years,
Then maybe I can make it by myself.
