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 a’reaching, smiling sweetly;
It’s good to touch the green, green grass of home.
The old house is still standing, though the paint is cracked and dry,
and there’s that old oak tree that I used to play on;
Down the lane I walk and with my serrt 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 gray walls that surround me and I realize that I was only dreaming. For there’s a guard and there’s a sad old padre. Arm and arm we’ll walk at daybreak — again I’ll 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.