In the woods of Maine lives a crazy man He says "I can't fly, but my pickles can And one day you'll see I'll set them free And your pigeons all will hang their heads in shame
Well, Charley had a pickle patch in his back yard In the pines, where growing pickles was quite hard But Charley did some dope And it gave him hope He'd grow a pickle that could make his dreams come true
There was a champions' race from Isle au Haut Which wasn't far, as pigeon races go "Charley, it's a dead veggie" Charley gave the jar to me And said "please put this in the mail and send it off today"
On the day of the big race, a storm blew in It was too windy for it to begin "Charley, we told you so Surely by now you'd know When you do that much dope, not many dreams are true"
"Yeah, I know. But I had to try A man can count his toes Or he can let his pickles fly And if you live out here Sanity is awful dear Sometimes you need a lift from silliness"
I snuck back out and from my car I grabbed that pickle in its little jar And set it on the roof "Hey, Charlie, here's your proof You're pickle's perched upon your house!"
"Come on down, you gherkin king I knew someone would know, the joke's the thing Come on down, dilly, down You made my dream come true"
In the woods of Maine lives a crazy man But not so crazy, now we understand For a silly dream Can make it seem You're lifted up on laughter's wings