He Used To Be A Good Old Boy

Ham hands slapping ham thighs

Belly folding over belt buckle

Turned up nose widely flared

Eyes set too close for comfort

He used to be a good old boy.

Now he sits upon a rocker

Gauntly framed and blankly staring

His mind a million miles away

Chasing coons and cookin' possum

He used to be a good old boy.

The buried him a-standin' vertical

On the hillside with his rifle

And his boots and his stetson

And his hood and length of rope

He used to be a good old boy.

Frail his wife stands by his grave

Drops a tear for years gone by

Years of life she spurned and wasted

Waitin' lonely, waitin' hatin'.

He used to be a good old boy.

The angels shout with loud rejoicing

To celebrate his absence.

The demons shout with eager voices

Knowing kith and sensing kin.

He used to be a good old boy.

From my collection of Kentucky Melodies