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The old home town looks the same, |
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As I step down from the train, |
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And there to greet me are my mamma and my poppa; |
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Down the road I look, and there runs Mary, |
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Hair of gold, lips like cherries, |
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It's good to touch the green, green grass of home. |
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CHORUS: |
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Yes, they'll all come to meet me, |
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Arms a-reachin', smilin' sweetly, |
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It's good to touch the green, green grass of home, |
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The old house is still standin, |
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'Though the paint is cracked and dry, |
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And there's that old oak tree, |
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That I used to play in. |
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Down the lane I'll walk with my sweet Mary, |
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Hair of gold and lips like cherries, |
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It's good to touch the green, green grass of home. |
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Then I awake and look around me, |
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At the four gray walls that surround me, |
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And I realize that I was only dreaming, |
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For there's a guard and a sad old padre, |
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Arm in arm we'll walk at daybreak, |
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And at last I'll touch the green green grass of home. |
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(CHORUS) |
