A-one, a-two, a-one, two, three
Ah, sitting under a shady tree, trying to whistle with the birds
And nothin' happenin' in my mind to prevent my writing words
The sun is out, the gra** is green, for once things are just as they seem
Sitting under a shady tree, trying to whistle with the birds
A-my spot is a secret spot
You are nowhere near
No one else is ever allowed
To be even near
A-rompin' through the gra**y field tryin' to listen to the weeds
A-everything could be groovy if you'd look inside your beads
My shirt is fresh and evenin' clean, my bag is ripped along the seam
A-rompin' through the gra**y field tryin' to listen to the weeds