|
All the good times are past and gone |
|
All the good times are past and gone |
|
All the good times are past and gone |
|
What's left for a poor boy to do? |
|
I can still see my mama bend over that ol' washpot |
|
And it's so doggone cold you could nearly freeze on the spot |
|
My pa eatin' them flapjacks and yellin' for more |
|
And the kids makin' tracks across mama's clean floor. |
|
But all them good times are past and gone now |
|
All the good times are gone. |
|
Well, you could look for miles down a winding railroad track |
|
And see train a leavin' and hear one comin' back |
|
And with a cloud of blue up over your head |
|
It's like something from a storybook that you once read. |
|
But all them good times are past and gone |
|
Now all the good times are gone |
|
All the good times are past and gone |
|
What's left for a poor boy to do? |
|
And go down on that river when the big boats make their run |
|
And the canepoles grow so thick they block up the sun |
|
Just smell that coffee boilin' in an old tin can |
|
And that hot grease poppin' in the fryin' pan. |
|
But all them good times are past and gone |
|
Now all them good times are gone |
|
All the good times are past and gone |
|
What's left for a poor boy to do?... |
