WHEN THE GRASS WAS STILL DEEP
As sung by Red Steagall and the Boys in the Bunkhouse on "Dreamin' of When the Grass Was Still Deep" (2011)

"When I come to this country they weren't but six stars,
And the moon was the size of an egg."
Then with brown wheat-straw papers and an old roll-your-own,
They'd pull stories from a Bull-Durham bag.

On the porch of the exes(?) they's sit swappin' tales
After the work was complete.
These old-time cowboys, they'd done all their livin'
In the days when the grass was still deep.

CHORUS: They'd roll smokes and tell jokes and rope cows and ride colts,
Talk of winters and summers gone by,
And I'd sit there and listen for hours on end
And get the coffee when the cups went dry.

They'd talk of long days back in the worm(?) time,
And ropin' forty a day,
And the old dirty thirties, and after the war,
Mostly how time slips away.

They'd break out in stories of old So-and-So.
"By the way, did you know that he died?"
"Well, no, I sure didn't, till you told me just now.
Dang it, he's a good friend of mine."

CHORUS

Now I was just a kid according to them,
But someday I might make a hand,
But I'd give a month's wages to know what they knew.
I guess they just learned from the land.

Don't know if I'll ever live up to them
If I last long and still earn my keep.
Well, a kid might just listen, bring the coffee around,
And hear the stories of when the grass was still deep.

CHORUS TWICE