Everyone knows him as "Old Folks"
Like the seasons he'll come and he'll go
Just as free as a bird and as good as his word
That's why everybody loves him so
Always leaving his spoon in his coffee
Puts his napkin up under his chin
And that yellow cob pipe, it's so mellow it's ripe
But you needn't be ashamed of him
In the evening, after supper
What stories he would tell
How he held the speech at Gettysburg for Lincoln that day
I know that one so well
Don't quite understand about Old Folk
Did he fight for the blue or the grey?
For he's so diplomatic and so democratic
We always let him have his way
Every Friday he'll go fishing
Way down on Buzzards Lake
But he only hooks a perch or two, a whale got away
So we warm up the steak
Oh, someday there'll be no more Old Folks
What a lonely old town this would be
Children's voices at play will be still for a day
The day that they take Old Folks away
