Old Tyme Memry

[D] [G] [Bm] [A] [G] [D] [A] x2

When father bought the farm, we so[G]ld the farm
Mistook his blood for rustic charm                                          [Bm]                                                                      [A]
Sold his ghost as an antique to the                                         [G]                                                            [D]
[A]city

[D]Kids today can’t hold a spa[G]de, r[Bm]est in peace your weary [A]trade
[G]In this wo[D]rld there is no p[A]lace, such a pity
[D]The barman shakes his head and [G]fills my glass
Says we’re [A]living in the [D]past
[D]Why [G]preserve a [Bm]dying craft and it’s [A]misery?
[G]I sigh and [D]say “another [A]modern man,
[D]One of [G]property, not [Bm]land”  [A]
[D]So I hold [G]out this [Bm]battered hand
Will you l[A]isten?

(Chorus)

Come sit do[G]wn, we’re lamenting

About yeste[G]rday’s sad ending

About the[G] water in my whiskey

And the brass [G]pass[A]ed off as gold

Another rou[G]nd, we’re descending

In to Old T[G]yme Mem’ry
Of a day when wood was wooden                                         [Bm]                                                               [G]

Silver sil[G]ver, [A]gold was gold
                                                                             [D]
S[G]weet [Bm]home [G]was [D]ho[A]me
 [D]    [G]    [Bm]   [G]   [D] [A]

So you’ve got a new stove in your second home
Runs on gas but looks like oak
Hell, it even gives off smoke and glowing embers
There’s a quilt hung on the wall reads ‘Home Sweet Home’
Below some wise word from Thoreau
And they call me ‘throwback’ when I cry “Remember!”

(Chorus)

And son these tools are artifacts
Endangered species left its tracks
Lock me up behind plastic glass in the city
‘Cos there’s no going back for me
This antique rustic’s eulogy
Shall be sold as folk artistry
Such a pity...

But I’ll never understand
Why they all only use those hands
To build a stead that will always stand in old time country
But settle for white rooms and hollow doors
Paper ceilings, padded floors
Luxury boxes where you’re stored in what was country.

(Chorus Twice)