Dark shadow move and the whipporwill calls
Crickets chirp a tune
Wild turkeys fly to the branches high
And frogs do answer the loon.
The sounds of the swamp are mournful and true
And in this natural land
There lives a man—a gentle man
Who sings of the Florida sand, sings of the Florida sand.
They say his name is Will McLean
And he walks in the deep of the night
To the place in the glade where the wild deer wade
And the horned owls dance in delight.
A brute of a man—but a gentle man
Guitar held in his hand
As he goes along he sings him a song
He sings of the Florida Sand, sings of the Florida sand.
He sings of things he's heard and seen
Of the gator and wild hog
In song he'll tell—of old tate's hell
That damnable murky bog.
He sings of the deeds of beast and men
Of Osceola and his band
All through the night—when the stars are bright
He sings of the Florida sand, sings of the Florida sand.
Some day the swamp will be covered and done
Man will spoil this habitat
And all around will be heard the sound
The growl of the big iron cat.
But there is a man—a gentle man
Who'll remember this wonderous land
Will McLean will sing of many things
He'll sing of the Florida sand, sing of the Florida sand.
Lyrics by Jack Turner
Music by Paul Champion and Will McLean