Deep within Virginia's desolate wood, stands a hobble shack, where no shack should be stood. Its roof tattered and door cracked and crinkled, and in it lives old man hue with all his wrinkles. Some say he's old, by old I mean a hundred and two, but for me I know it's not true. Many say he's ornery, but to me he's been nothing but kind, you could say hes a dear friend of mine. See I've spent many days with old man hue, and if one thing for certain, if one thing is true. Is that in the hobble shack which stood true, was the closest thing to a father, that old man hue.