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