The Slopes Of Beech Mountain - Norman Blake

The green leaves hang over rusty tin

And the porch roof is falling through

Blue morning glories bloom outside my room

And a field of white daisies, too.

I’ll wear my old coat and my overalls

I’ll wear my brogan shoes

My old felt hat and gold watch chain

And an honest face will do.

Where queen anne’s lace and bright goldenrod

And the green grasses wave so true

Where the bramble rose, so snow white grows

And the skies are always blue.

I’ll sing some old song that’s forgot and gone

I’ll play on the violin, too

And I might recite well into the night

Some story that’s known to be true.

Then just let me stay up here were the air is clear

And the cool rippling waters run down

In this shady mountain clime till the end of my time

On the slopes of Beech Mountain I’ll be found.

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