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(Louis Driver) |
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Well she's my Rose from the mountain where I come from |
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Back in ol' Colorado where they reach up and touch the sun |
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But I took her to the city where the air ain't clean |
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And it's wilted my Rose from the mountain |
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(Chorus) |
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Where a good guitar picker makes more money than a cowboy |
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So I thought I'd try my luck makin' records in L.A. |
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But a lot of them bloys make a lot more music than I can |
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And if Rose don't like the city life I think I'll take her home |
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Well I can see her in the mornin' runnin' barefoot through the meadow |
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With a smile on her face and her hair a-hangin' long |
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Well I love my sweet Rosey and oh she loves me |
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So I'm takin' her back home to the mountain |
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(Chorus) |
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She's my Rose from the mountain where I come from |
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Back in ol' Colorado where they reach up and touch the sun |
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But I took her to the city where the air ain't clean |
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And it's wilted my Rose from the mountain |
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Yes it's wilted my Rose from the mountain |
