The old home town looks the same
as I step down from the train,
and there to meet me
is 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.
It's good to touch
the green, green, grass of home.
The old house is still standing,
tho' the paint is cracked and dry,
and there's that old oak tree
that I used to play on.
Down the lane I walk with my sweet Mary,
Hair of gold and lips like cherries.
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.
Again I touch the green,
green grass of home.
Yes, they'll all come to see me
in the shade of that old oak tree
as they lay me
neath the green, green grass of home.
