Folks have told me that the farm
Where I lived has lost its charm
An' they've paved the dusty street
Which was velvet to our feet,
An' it's now a thoroughfare
With the hum of motors there;
Wouldn't want to lose the joy
That I've treasured from a boy—
Guess I'd better keep always
Memories of those happier days.
I'm afraid of goin' back.
Memory still keeps the track
To those favorite haunts of mine
Like a painted canvas fine,
An' the old spots live with me
Just the way they used to be;
An' to see them now would seem
Much like shattering a dream,
So the town shall live with me
Just the way it used to be.
The Driver of the Truck
I envy him his care-free way, I envy him his smile,
The highway is his own domain, he rules it every mile;
The king who drives about by day, sends couriers on ahead
And buglers gay and soldiers brave, a path for him to spread;
But he may go his way alone nor fear that he'll be struck,
For monarch of the highway is the driver of the truck.
When I go driving down the road I must obey the rules,
I must watch out for all who come, the sane men and the fools,
And I must guard that car of mine with vigilance and care,
For even trifling accidents might strand me then and there;
But let who will bump into him, he's never out of luck,
No pleasure car can ever stop the driver of the truck.
He sits his seat in confidence, serene and quite content,
His heavy wheels are never dished, his axles never bent;
A locomotive engineer might jolt him from his place,
But nothing short of that would bring a tremor to his face.
He laughs his cheerful way along, too big for men to buck,
And even millionaires must dodge the driver of the truck.
Oh, kings and kaisers overthrown, who live in exile now,
And princes of the royal blood whose heads have had to bow
Before the people's mightier will, if you'd once more regain
The arrogance of happier days before they closed your reign,
You still can make the lowly flee and force the throngs to duck—
Just hustle out and get a job as driver of a truck.
The Radio