Everyone knows him as "Old Folks" Like the seasons he'll come and he'll go Just as free as a bird and as good as his word That's why everybody loves him so
Always leaving his spoon in his coffee Puts his napkin up under his chin And that yellow cob pipe, it's so mellow it's ripe But you needn't be ashamed of him
In the evening, after supper What stories he would tell How he held the speech at Gettysburg for Lincoln that day I know that one so well
Don't quite understand about Old Folk Did he fight for the blue or the grey? For he's so diplomatic and so democratic We always let him have his way
Every Friday he'll go fishing Way down on Buzzards Lake But he only hooks a perch or two, a whale got away So we warm up the steak
Oh, someday there'll be no more Old Folks What a lonely old town this would be Children's voices at play will be still for a day The day that they take Old Folks awayTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
