Grandpa

 

Grandpa used to sit on a park bench

Feeding the pigeons and telling me tales

Grandpa would tell me his stories

About wandering the oceans when he handled the sails

My favorite story was of a night in New Orleans

When he wandered too far and he wound up in jail

Grandpa would tell me, don’t run off half-cocked and crazy

He said find a young lady who’ll go throw your bail

My gramps, Grandpa was hell

My gramps, Grandpa was hell

 

Grandpa used to come every Sunday

For the afternoon meal when the praying was done

Then Grandpa would take me to that rusty old lighthouse

Yeah, that lighthouse that slept in the face of the sun

And Grandpa would hold me and tell me he loved me

He said it made him happy I was his grandson

Then Grandpa would give me a dime bright and shiny

And he’d pat my behind, saying don’t tell your Mom

My gramps, Grandpa was fun

My gramps, Grandpa was fun

 

Grandpa sometimes cried when he’d tell me

He’s say, “Time’s running short now and soon I’ll be gone”

Then one day, my Momma, talking on the phone

I caught her crying, too, and I knew what was wrong

Because Grandpa’d been taken to a hospital room

Where they laid him to bed and the curtains were drawn

So this is for Grandpa, wherever he’s wandering

Your grandson says thank you for the love in this song

My gramps, Grandpa’s not gone

He’s hanging around in a song

 

© 1975. Billy Marabella.

NOTES ON THIS SONG
This is the only song in this entire collection that I do not consider commercially viable. I include it as a tribute to a man who shaped me as a young boy so that I would grow into the man that I am. I doubt he would understand my passion for songwriting. I am certain he would understand my passion. He’s  the only grandparent I got to know. The others died before I was born. Thanks, Grandpa, for the love in this song.