The old home town looks the same as I step down from the train
And there to meet me is my mama and papa;
Down the road I look and [bad word] Mary, hair of gold and lips like cherries,
it‘s good to touch the green, green grass of home.

Yes, they‘ll [bad word] to meet me arms a reaching, smiling sweetly;
It‘s good to touch the green, green grass of home.

The old house is still standing, though the paint is cracked and dry,
And there‘s that old oak tree that I used to play on;
Down the lane I walk and with my sweet Mary, hair of gold an lips like cherries
It‘s good to touch the green, green grass of home.

Then I awake and look around me at the four gray walls that surround me
And I realize that I was only dreaming. 
For there‘s a guard and there‘s a sad old padre. 
Arm and arm we‘ll walk at daybreak -
Again I‘ll touch the green, green grass of home

Yes, they‘ll [bad word] to see me in the shade of that old oak tree;
As they lay me ‘neath the green, green grass of home.