Way out on the Kirkmansville Road,
There has lately been posted a notice,
To all farmers, the bad and the good.
Its just a "guilt" edged invitation
Placed there by a Night Rider brave (?)
"Better join the 'Sociation,
If you plant beds and barns you would save."
It was stylishly dressed up in canvas,
And written by type-writer's hand,
It was worded in terms so expressive,
That any one might understand.
The farmers were warned to come over,
that they were in danger outside,
All tobacco must be in the union,
And the signature this "Men who ride."
Now, Old Knotty has long been a landmark,
Not noted for beauty 'tis true,
But a study and silent old fellow
And of secrets he's heard quite a few.
Wiley words of the smooth politician,
Merry laughter of children at play.
Whispered wooing of lovers by moonlight,
All of these he has heard in his day,
The patient ox, the tired horses in summer
How they long for his shade by the road.
To them he's the feed ground, the noon hour,
and rest from the weary road.
Old has held all the sale bills;
He's proud of the nails in his side.
But his head hangs in humiliation
At the threat of the bad "Men who ride."
However he's keeping the secret,
but of course he would know just at sight
The face of the man who disgraced him,
by posting a threat in the night
The people who live near Old Knotty,
and quietly working their farms,
but they've nothing to lose by marauders,
No plant beds, tobacco or barns.
They are not opposed to the Union,
Its findings they would not revoke.
But they'd like a 'polite invitation,
Instead of a threat to the Oak.
They've read long ago, in an old book,
That in Union alone man may stand;
That a house with its members divided,
Is like the one build on the sand.
then, here's to the D.T. 'Sociation,
May its principles ever abide,
Here's to order and law in Old Christian
But contempt for the men who ride.
This year was the blackest in Hopkinsville History
when the tobacco riders captured the police and fire stations
here and burned warehouses.