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The Golden Oldies

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The Golden Oldies

Green, Green Grass of Home

Golden Oldies

The old home town looks the same as I step down from the train,
and there to meet me was my Mama and Papa.
Down the road I look and there runs Mary hair of gold and lips like cherries.
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they'll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly.
Yes it's good to touch the green, green, grass of home.
The old house was still standing, tho' the paint is cracked and dry,
and there's that old oak tree that I used to play on.

Down the road I walk with my sweet Mary, hair of gold and lips like cherries.
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It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Then I awake and look around me,
at the four grey walls that surround me

and I realize, yes, I was only dreaming.
For there's a guard and there's a sad old padre
arm in arm we'll walk at daybreak.
And again to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they'll all come to meet me in the shade of that old oak tree
whoever lay me neath the green, green grass of home.