With his long white beard and his crooked step
He tramps along with the folks all left
With a twinkle in his eye he passes them by
The old man of the mountain

He wears long hair but his feet are bare
They say he's mad as an old march hare
His cares are none and he owes no one
The old man of the mountain

He talks with the birds when he's lonely
Sleeps with the stars for a tent
While the bees spread a feast when he's hungry
And God charges no rent

He'll live as long as an old oak tree
And laugh at fools like you and me
I often sigh and wish that I were
The old man of the mountain.