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...(more)
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