He's always up and out of bed before the morning comes
He mumbles and he grumbles about all that must be done
There's eighty years of memories that rattle in his head
Whiskey and cigars that he keeps stashed beside his bed
He believes the world went straight to hell
When Brooklyn lost the Dodgers
Some say that he's a lost his mind
Some call him an old codger
Oh, but he's just old folks, old folks
Blessed is the child of yesterday
Love those old folks
'Cause with a little luck and the Lord to see us through
One day, we will be old folks, too
She used to bake the sweetest pies I swear I ever ate
I'd steal the butter from the bowl 'cause I could never wait
But now her hands are bent and sore; arthritis rages wild
But you would never know she hurts the way she always smiles
She believes the world is good and kind but would love warmer weather
And her grand-kids are perfect though sometimes they forget her
All because she's old folks, she's old folks
Blessed is the child of yesterday
Love those old folks
'Cause with a little luck and the Lord to see us through
One day, we will be old folks, too
Oh, with a little luck and the Lord to see us through
One day, we will be old folks, too
