The old home town looks the same,
As I step down from the train,
And there to greet me are my mamma and my poppa;
Down the road I look, and there runs Mary,
Hair of gold, lips like cherries,
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they'll all come to meet me,
Arms a-reachin', smilin' sweetly,
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home,
The old house is still standin,
'Though the paint is cracked and dry,
And there's that old oak tree,
That I used to play in.
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