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The old home town looks the same as I step down from the train, |
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And there meet me is my Mama and my Papa. |
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Down the road I look and there runs Mary 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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The old house is still standing tho' the paint is cracked and dry, |
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And there's that old oak tree that I used to play on. |
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Down the lane 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. |
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Yes, they'll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly. |
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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, to the four grey wall that surround me |
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And then I realize that I was only dreaming. |
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There's a guard and sad old padre |
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Arm in arm we'll walk at daybreak. |
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Again I touch the green, green grass of home. |
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Yes, they'll all meet together in the shade of that old oak tree |
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As we neath indeed the green, green grass of home. |
