My Dear Son, it is almost June, I hope this letter catches up to you, and finds you well. Its been dry but they're calling for rain, And everything's the same ol' same in Johnsonville. Your stubborn 'ol Daddy ain't said too much, But I'm sure you know he sends his love, And she goes on, In a letter from home.
I hold it up and show my buddies, Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy, and they all laugh, Like there's something funny bout' the way I talk, When I say: "Mama sends her best y'all." I fold it up an' put it in my shirt, Pick up my gun an' get back to work. An' it keeps me driving me on, Waiting on letters from home.
My Dearest Love, its almost dawn. I've been lying here all night long wondering where you might be. I saw your Mama and I showed her the ring. Man on the television said something so I couldn't sleep. But I'll be all right, I'm just missing you. An' this is me kissing you: XX's and OO's, In a letter from home.
I hold it up and show my buddies, Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy, and they all laugh, 'Cause she calls me "Honey", but they take it hard, 'Cause I don't read the good parts. I fold it up an' put it in my shirt, Pick up my gun an' get back to work. An' it keeps me driving me on, Waiting on letters from home.
Dear Son, I know I ain't written, But sittin' here tonight, alone in the kitchen, it occurs to me, I might not have said, so I'll say it now: Son, you make me proud.
I hold it up and show my buddies, Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy, but no one laughs, 'Cause there ain't nothing funny when a soldier cries. An' I just wipe me eyes. I fold it up an' put it in my shirt, Pick up my gun an' get back to work. An' it keeps me driving me on, Waiting on letters from home.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
