Old Man of the Mountains

With his long white beard, and his crooked staff

He tramps along with the folks all laugh

With a twinkle in his eye, he passes them by

The old man of the mountain

Well he wears long hair but his feet are bare

They say he's mad as an old march hare

But his cares are none, and he owes no one

The old man of the mountain

He talks with the birds when he's lonely

He sleeps with the stars for a tent

And the bees spread a feast when he's hungry

And God charges no rent

And he'll live as long as an old oak tree

And laugh at fools like you and me

Oh I often sigh, and wish that I were

The old man of the mountain