| It’s hung there on the front porch
|
| Since this old house was built
|
| It’s where the old men whittle
|
| And the women fleece their quilts
|
| It’s held four generations
|
| Through whatever life could bring
|
| That ol' swing
|
| That ol' porch swing
|
| It held a grieving widow
|
| When my daddy’s daddy died
|
| And now it rocks my children
|
| When they close their sleepy eyes
|
| It’s where I popped the question
|
| With a quarter karot ring
|
| That ol' swing
|
| That ol' porch swing
|
| It’s been there through the sunshine
|
| It’s had it’s share of rain
|
| Been a witness to some good times
|
| And a like amount of pain
|
| If it could tell it’s story
|
| What a Violin could sing
|
| That ol' swing
|
| That ol' porch swing
|
| It’s where brother read the letter
|
| That sent him off to war
|
| We knew he had to go and fight
|
| But we didn’t know what for
|
| When he came home he just sat there
|
| And never said a thing
|
| In that swing
|
| That ol' porch swing
|
| It’s been there through the sunshine
|
| It’s had it’s share of rain
|
| Been a witness to some good times
|
| And a like amount of pain
|
| If it could tell it’s story
|
| What a Violin could sing
|
| That ol' swing
|
| That ol' porch swing
|
| That ol' swing
|
| That ol' porch swing… |