I remember grandpa Jacob here in northern Indiana

Mending fences while the wind blew a low mournful sound,

As the freezing rain blew past him, I just shook my head and asked him

Don’t these hard-living winters ever get your spirits down?

He said, These hard-winter blues could break your soul in two

And freeze you from your hat down to your shoes,

But I know, when summer comes, I’ll be sittin’ in the sun

Picking banjo and a singin' ‘bout these hard-winter blues.

Now his fences all have fallen and his farm’s a faded memory

But like bitter winter winds, grampa still comes around

In my memories, I’m near him and then once again I hear him

As these hard-living winters try to break my spirits down.

He said, These hard-winter blues could break your soul in two

And freeze you from your hat down to your shoes,

But I know, when summer comes, I’ll be sittin’ in the sun

Pickin’ banjo and a singin' ‘bout these hard-winter blues.

Yes, these hard-winter blues could break your soul in two

And freeze you from your hat down to your shoes,

But I know, when summer comes, I’ll be sittin’ in the sun

Pickin’ banjo and a singin' ‘bout these hard-winter blues.