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Текст песни Hank Snow - Old Doc Brown

Hank Snow - Old Doc Brown слова песни




(Spoken)He was just an old country doctorIn a little Kentucky townFame and fortune had passed him byBut we never saw him frownAs day by day in his kindly wayHe served us one and allMany a patient forgot to payAltho` doc`s fees were smallBut Old Doc Brown didn`t seem to mindHe didn`t even send out billsHis only ambition was to findIt seems, sure cures for aches and illsWhy nearly half the folks in my home townYes, I`m one of them tooWere ushered in by Old Doc BrownWhen we made our first debutTho` he needed his dimes and there were timesThat he`d receive a feeHe`d pass it on to some poor soulThat needed it worse than heBut when the depression hit our townAnd drained each meager purseThe scanty income of Old Doc BrownJust went from bad to worseHe had to sell all of his furnitureWhy, he couldn`t even pay his office rentSo to a dusty room over a Livery stableDoc Brown and his practice wentOn the hitchin` post at the curb belowTo advertise his waresHe nailed a little sign that read`Doc Brown has moved upstairs`There he kept on helpin` folks get wellAnd his heart was just pure goldBut anyone with eyes could seeThat Doc was gettin` oldAnd then one day he didn`t even answerWhen they knocked upon his doorOld Doc Brown was a-lyin` downBut his soul - was no moreThey found him there in an old black suitAnd on his face was a smile of contentBut all the money they could find on himWas a quarter and a copper centSo they opened up his ledgerAnd what they saw gave their hearts a pullBeside each debtor`s nameOld Doc had (*writ) these words, `Paid in full`It looked like the potter`s field for DocThat caused us some alarm`Til someone `membered the family graveyardOut on the Simmons farmOld doc had brought six of their kidsAnd Simmons was a grateful cussHe said, Doc`s been like one of the familySo, you can let him sleep with usOld Doc should have had a funeralFine enough for a kingIt`s a ghastly joke that our town was brokeAnd no one could give a thing`Cept Jones, the undertakerHe did mighty wellDonatin` an old iron casketThat he`d never been able to sellAnd the funeral procession, it wasn`t muchFor grace and pomp and styleBut those wagon loads of mournersThey stretched out for more than a mileAnd we breathed a prayer as we laid him thereTo rest beneath the sodThis man who`d earned the rightTo be on speaking terms with GodHis grave was covered with flowersBut not from the floral shopsJust roses and things from folks` gardenAnd one or two dandelion potsFor the depression had hit our little town hardAnd each man carried a loadSo some just picked the wildflowersAs they passed along the roadWe wanted to give him a monumentKinda figured we owed him one`Cause he`d made our town a better placeFor all the good he`d doneBut monuments cost moneySo, we did the best we couldAnd on his grave we gently placedA monument - of woodWe pulled up that old hitchin` postWhere Doc had nailed his signAnd we painted it white and to all of usIt certainly did look fineNow the rains and snow has washed awayOur white trimmings of paintAnd there ain`t nothin` left but Doc`s own signAnd that is gettin` faintStill, when southern breezes and flickering starsCaress our sleeping townAnd the pale moon shines through Kentucky pinesOn the grave of Old Doc BrownYou can still see that old hitchin` postAs if an answer to our prayersMutely telling the whole wide worldDoc Brown has moved up stairs

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