Mischief Brew
Mischief Brew - Old Tyme Mem'ry lyrics
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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 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