Olde Tyme Mem'ry - Mischief Brew

When Father bought the farm, we sold the farm

Mistook his blood for rustic charm

Sold his ghost as an antique

To the city

Kids today can’t hold a spade

Rest in peace your weary trades

In this world there is no place

Such a pity

Well, the barman shakes his head and fills my glass

Says 'We're living in the past.

Why preserve a dying craft?

End its misery.'

We sigh and see another modern man

One of property, not land

So I hold out this battered hand

Will you listen?

Come sit down, we’re lamenting about yesterday’s sad ending

'Bout the water in me whiskey

The brass passed off as gold

Another round, we’re descending into old tyme mem’ry

Of a day when wood was wooden, silver-silver, gold was gold

Sweet home was home

So you say you got a wooden stove in your second home

Runs on gas, but looks like oak

Hell, it even gives off smoke and glowing embers

There’s a quilt hung on the wall, reads 'Home, Sweet Home'

Below some wise words from Thoreau

And they call me throwback;

when I cry I remember

Come sit down, we’re lamenting about yesterday’s sad ending

'Bout the water in me whiskey

The brass passed off as gold

Another round, we’re descending into old tyme mem’ry

Of a day when wood was wooden, silver-silver, gold was gold

Sweet home was home

Son, these tools are artifacts

Endangered species left its tracks

So lock me up behind plastic glass in the city

There’s no going back for me

This antique’s rustic eulogy

Shall be sold as folk artistry, such a pity

But I’ll never understand why they all only use those hands

To build a stead that will always stand

In old time country

But settle for white rooms and hollow doors

Paper ceilings, padded floors

Luxury boxes where you’re stored;

and what was country?

Come sit down, we’re lamenting about yesterday’s sad ending

'Bout the water in me whiskey

The brass passed off as gold

Another round, we’re descending into old tyme mem’ry

Of a day when wood was wooden, silver-silver, gold was gold

Another round, we’re lamenting about yesterday’s sad ending

'Bout the water in me whiskey

The brass passed off as gold

Another round, we’re descending into old tyme mem’ry

Of a day when wood was wooden, silver-silver, gold was gold

Sweet home was home