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Words by Ruth Moore
Tune by Gordon Bok

Little River, lighted whistle, cry no more
Sleepy sound from the breakers calling me back to shore

Whistle it soft to the silver river
Whistle loud to the drumming sea
Whistle it low to the moon and the morning
Not to me, never to me

For I'm swinging high in another country, swinging low
Playing it easy, the dolphins follow me where I go

Whistle it loud to the floodtide making
Whistle it soft to the wheeling sun
Whistle it wild to my girl's heart breaking
She'll remember, she was the one
Spring comes warm to Little River, storm comes black
I was headed home when the Indian Giver took me back

Whistle it high to the grey-beard breakers
Where the secret over the great shoals ran
Whistle the world that was in my pocket
When I had pockets, when I was a man

Copyright Folk-Legacy Records, Inc. 1977
@death @sailor
recorded by Gordon Bok
filename[ LITRIVER

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