John Stewart Follow

Sycamores grow in their long planted rows
Out there to break the morning wind
Still the dust it always blows
It's in our eyes, it's in our clothes
And it's in our very souls
Like this song about me and Jim

The back of my hand started looking like a man's
Way back when I was still a kid
But the lonesome in me cries
Like a little boy sometimes
You can hear it come out screaming like the wind

Me and Jim, getting thin
Fare thee well to him
Fare thee well now Mama
I'm gonna take good care of him
Me and Jim getting thin
Fare thee well to him
But there ain't no place to run
for the oldest living son

Now our dad was a gentleman
When he worked down at the store
And the only time I saw him mad
Was when he talked about the war
He'd lost his brother at Bellieu Wood
And he never really understood
What the medals from the president were for

Me and Jim, getting thin
Fare thee well to him
Fare thee well now mama
I'm gonna take good care of him
Me and Jim getting thin
Fare thee well to him
Cause there ain't no where to run
For the oldest living son