Ant McNaught

Back in the day, when I was young,
there was a song that my daddy sung.
Wrap itself around you
like the sweetest breeze,
curling in through the lilac trees.
Oh yeah, he’s long gone
but that song of his keeps rolling on.
 
We had us a hammock in a cottonwood tree.
Evenings we’d be there, him and me.
When you’re a kid, you don’t know
how lucky you are
just to have your dad and an old guitar.
Oh yeah, he’s long gone
but that song of his keeps rolling on.
 
Then the war took him. I lost my way.
I had that guitar, but I could not play.
I tell you back then I wouldn’t give ten cents
for this old farm-house and its picket fence.
Don’t ask me, son. Don’t ask me how.
I didn’t know then what I do know now.
I wish my dad was here to see
that brand new hammock
in the cottonwood tree.
 
I’ve known those hands, that easy smile.
The wood’s all stacked. Let’s set awhile.
Come on, son, there’s a patch of shade.
I’ll play you the song
that your grandpa played.
Oh yeah, he’s long gone
but that song of his keeps rolling on.
Oh yeah, he’s long gone
but that light in your eyes says he’s rolling on.