The Slopes Of Beech Mountain

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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