James Dickey - Deliverance pg. 59-61 lyrics

"What're we going to play, Lonnie?" Drew asked, his gla**es opaque with pleasure. Lonnie stood holding the banjo, looking off from us now with both eyes, the eyes splitting apart and all of us in the blind spot. "Anything," the old man said. "Play anything." Drew started in on "Wildwood Flower," picking it out at medium tempo and not putting in many runs. Lonnie dragged on the rubber bands and slipped the capo up. Drew started to come on with the volume; the Martin boomed out and over the dusty filling station. I had never heard him play so well, and I really began to listen deeply, moved as an unmusical person is moved when he sees that the music is meant. After a little while it sounded as though Drew were adding another kind of sound to every note he played, a higher, tinny echo of the melody, and then it broke in on me that this was the banjo, played so softly and rightly that is sounded like Drew's own fingering. I could not see Drew's face, but the back of his neck was sheer joy. He eased out of the melody and played rhythm, and Lonnie took it. He emphasized nothing, but through everything he played there was a lovely unimpeded flowing that seemed endless. His hands, full of long scratches, took time; the fingers moved only slightly, about like those of a good typist; the music was just there. Drew came back in the new key and they finished, riding together. For the last couple of minutes of the song, Drew slid down and went over and stood beside Lonnie. They put the instruments together and leaned close to each other in the pose you see vocal groups and phony folk singers take on TV programs, and something rare and unrepeatable took hold of the way I saw them, the demented country kind and the big-faced decent city man, the minor civic leader and hedge clipper. I was glad for Drew's sake we had come. Just this incident would be plenty to satisfy him. "Goddamn," he said as they finished. "Come om, Drew" Lewis said. "Put that thing away. We got to get water under us." "I could play with this guy all day," Drew said. "Can you wait just a minute? I'd like to get his name and address." HE turned to Lonnie, then quickly to the old man; he was, I guess, afraid that Lonnie didn't know his name and address. They walked together a few steps, almost out of the area of the filling station, and stood talking. Then Drew pa**ed Martin to the old man and took a pencil and his wallet out of his pocket and wrote what the old man told him. Once the man touched Drew's shoulder. Drew came back, and the old man and Lonnie went inside. "You know," Drew said to all of us, "I'd like to come back up here, just to hear some more music. I thought all the real country pickers had long since gone to Nashville."