My old man said we'd go west when the grass got green,
Just to see the biggest sky I'd ever seen.
We took the back roads winding,
Sang at every turn,
Saw every sunrise,
Drank toddies so hot, our lips got burned.
When we got home and unrolled ourselves
From the family sedan,
My grandma said, baby, you're just like your old man.
You should have been in school with your ABCs,
Instead of playing cowboy
And putting holes in your brand new jeans.
Well, my old man's not perfect;
He's a prism in the sky,
With all the colors of the rainbow in his eyes,
In his eyes,
In his eyes.
My old man makes promises he tries to keep;
Staying up past midnight just to watch me sleep.
He knows who I am,
And just where I come from.
Those who left him
Can hardly imagine what their leaving has done.
He dreams of lighting fire from a smokestake;
No more shoveling coal until his face turned black.
No more watching bankers in their fancy cars,
Looking right through him as if he were smoke
That curled from their cigars.
Well, my old man's not perfect;
He's a prism in the sky,
With all the colors of the rainbow in his eyes,
In his eyes,
In his eyes.
My old man said we'd go west when the grass got green;
He makes promises he tries to keep
As he dreams.