I will not ask for the prayer in church Or the preacher saying the prayer, But I will ask the shivering birch To hold its arms in the air.

Cold and cold and cold again, Cold in the blackjack limb The winds of the sky for his sponsor-men And a bird to christen him.

Now listen to me, you Tennessee corn, And listen to my word, This is the first child ever born That was christened by a bird.

He’s going to act like a hound let loose When he comes from the blackjack tree, And he’s going to walk in proud shoes All over Tennessee.

I’ll feed him milk out of my own breast And call him Whistling Jack. And his dad’ll bring him a partridge nest, As soon as his dad comes back.