The Good Old Days by Dick Curless Lyrics

Carry my clothes in an old brown suitcase
That my momma had
Tell the time by an old pocket watch
Left me by my dad

These are things I call memories
Everything I remember was bad
I never had a place to call back home
I'm standin' in the middle of all I own
I hope I never live to hear me say
That these turned out to be the good old days

I remember when papa died
The county had to pay
We didn't have monеy to pay for food
Much less a grave

Thesе are things I call memories
Everything I remember was bad
I never had a place to call back home
I'm standin' in the middle of all I own
I hope I never live to hear me say
That these turned out to be the good old days
That these turned out to be the good old days