Bluegrass, Country, medium tempo, major, americana, nostalgic, old timey, rural, southern, Male vocals, lyrics, banjo, acoustic guitar, upright bass, drums, piano
Nineteen hundred twenty-nine, men and women sure were dying from that stuff which the doctors called the flu. People dying everywhere, death went creeping through the air, for the groans of the sick sure were sad. It was God's mighty hand, he is judging this old land. North and south, east and west can be seen. As he killed the rich and poor, and he's going to kill more, if you don't turn away from your shame. It was Memphis, Tennessee, doctors said it soon would be a few days influenza would control. But God showed him his hand and he sent the doctors to bed, and the nurse broke down with the same. It was God's mighty hand, he is judging this old land. North and south, east and west can be seen. As he killed the rich and poor, and he's going to kill more, if you don't turn away from your shame. Influenza is a disease, makes you weak in your knees. Carries a fever everybody sure do dread. Put a pain in every bone, a few days and you are gone to a place in the ground called the grave. It was God's mighty hand, he is judging this old land. North and south, east and west can be seen. As he killed the rich and poor, and he's going to kill more, if you don't turn away from your shame.
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