The old home town looks the same, <br />As I step down from the train, <br />And there to meet me is my mama and my papa. <br />Down the road I look, and there comes Mary, <br />Hair of gold and lips like cherries. <br />It's good to touch the green, green grass of home. <br /><br />The old house is still standing, <br />Though the paint is cracked and dry, <br />And there's the old oak tree that I used to play on. <br />Down the lane I walk with my sweet Mary, <br />Hair of gold and lips like cherries. <br />It's good to touch the green, green grass of home. <br /><br />Yes, they'll all come to see me, <br />Arms reaching, smiling sweetly. <br />It's good to touch the green, green grass of home. <br /><br />Then I awake and look around me, <br />At the four gray walls that surround me, <br />And I realize that I was only dreaming. <br />For there's a guard, and there's a sad old padre, <br />Arm in arm, we'll walk at daybreak. <br />Again, I'll touch the green, green grass of home. <br /><br />Yes, they'll all come to see me <br />In the shade of the old oak tree, <br />As they lay me 'neath the green, green grass of home.