The Old Man Of The Mountain

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

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

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

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