| Down the road I look and there runs Mary hair of gold and lips like cherries.
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| It’s good to touch the green, green grass of home.
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| The old house is still standing tho' the paint is cracked and dry,
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| And there’s that old oak tree that I used to play on.
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| Down the lane I walk with my sweet sweet Mary, hair of gold and lips like
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| cherries.
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| It’s good to touch the green, green grass of home.
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| Yes, they’ll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly.
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| It’s good to touch the green, green grass of home.
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| Then I awake and look around me, at the four grey walls that surround me
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| And I realize, yes, I was only dreaming.
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| There’s a guard and there’s a sad old padre
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| Arm in arm we’ll walk at daybreak.
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| Again I touch the green, green grass of home.
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| Yes, they’ll all come to see me in the shade of that old oak tree
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| As they lay me neath the green, green grass of home |