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She'll be thirty two in July |
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And she's only known one man |
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A blue-eyed talker name of Hawkeye |
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Sometimes he sold pots and pans |
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He came to her house late one summer |
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When she was ripe and twenty two |
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He stayed awhile with her that summer |
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And if he left we never knew |
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And he called her Dolly |
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And he called her Dolly |
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And he called.... |
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Called her Dolly |
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She hasn't spoken since that summer |
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Her hair has turned a silver grey |
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Her eyes turned yellow like the roses |
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She weeds and waters everyday |
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And people come to buy the roses |
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But sell them one she will not do |
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She sits there in her six foot garden |
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And counts the roses two-by-two |
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And he called her Dolly |
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And he called her Dolly |
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And he called.... |
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Called her Dolly |
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One day a man came by to see her |
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He said he was Hawkeye's best friend |
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He wondered had she'd seen old Hawkeye |
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Her yellows eyes smiled up at him |
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She turned and walked down to her garden |
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And picked two roses of her choice |
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And when she gave them to the stranger |
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He thought he heard old Hawkeye's voice |
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And he called her Dolly |
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And he called her Dolly |
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And he called.... |
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Called her Dolly |
