The neighbor kids are fighting.
on that back porch once again,
I’ll shoe em off, and look around
and I’ll recall just where I’ve been.

I’ll see a landmark in the yard,
an old truck washed ashore,
wild roses growing through the grill
says it ain’t moving anymore,

I’ve never tried to sell it,
hasn’t moved in quiet some time,
but the songs I heard in that ole cab
are traveling through my mind,
taking me away , to creeks and water holes,
shinning like a light house, on one baptizing souls,

it seems like only yesterday,
I heard my father sing,
traveling down these country roads
while the truck would knock and ping,
it seemed he could run on faith,
and I would always tag along,
he would sing , and I would hum
those old familiar songs.

then one day it happened ,
he left the house without his keys,
now those ole familiar songs,
are golden memories.
I believe the angels listened
as we prayed and said so long
then all of us began to sing
those old familiar songs.

well the neighbor kids are playing now,
love has a way to mend,
I still recall that ragged truck
and the songs that never end,