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lirik lagu mischief brew - old tyme mem'ry

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when father bought the farm, we sold the farm
mistook his blood for rustic charm
sold his ghost as an antique
to the city

kids today can’t hold a spade
rest in peace your weary trades
in this world there is no place
such a pity

well, the barman shakes his head and fills my gl-ss
says ‘we’re living in the past.
why preserve a dying craft?
end its misery.’

we sigh and see another modern man
one of property, not land
so i hold out this battered hand
will you listen?

come sit down, we’re lamenting about yesterday’s sad ending
’bout the water in me whiskey
the br-ss p-ssed off as gold
another round, we’re descending into old tyme mem’ry
of a day when wood was wooden, silver-silver, gold was gold
sweet home was home

so you say you got a wooden stove in your second home
runs on gas, but looks like oak
h-ll, it even gives off smoke and glowing embers

there’s a quilt hung on the wall, reads ‘home, sweet home’
below some wise words from th-r-au
and they call me throwback; when i cry i remember

come sit down, we’re lamenting about yesterday’s sad ending
’bout the water in me whiskey
the br-ss p-ssed off as gold
another round, we’re descending into old tyme mem’ry
of a day when wood was wooden, silver-silver, gold was gold
sweet home was home

son, these tools are artifacts
endangered species left its tracks
so lock me up behind plastic gl-ss in the city

there’s no going back for me
this antique’s rustic 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; and what was country?

come sit down, we’re lamenting about yesterday’s sad ending
’bout the water in me whiskey
the br-ss p-ssed off as gold
another round, we’re descending into old tyme mem’ry
of a day when wood was wooden, silver-silver, gold was gold

another round, we’re lamenting about yesterday’s sad ending
’bout the water in me whiskey
the br-ss p-ssed off as gold
another round, we’re descending into old tyme mem’ry

of a day when wood was wooden, silver-silver, gold was gold
sweet home was home


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