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| This Song is meant for older campers. Decide for yourself if it is appropriate for your younger campers or not. | |
| The Tune: | |
| Lyrics: | On top of Old Smokey All covered with snow, I lost my true lover For courting too slow. Now, courting is a pleasure And parting is grief, And a false-hearted lover Is worse than a thief. A thief will just rob you And take what you have, But a false-hearted lover Will lead you to the grave. And the grave will decay you And turn you to dust; Not one girl in a hundred A poor boy can trust. They'll hug you and kiss you And tell you more lies Than the crossties on the railroad Or stars in the sky. So, caome all you young maidens And listen to me, Never place your affection On a green willow tree. For the leaves they will wither, And the roots they will die, You'll all be forsaken And never know why. On top of Old Smokey All covered with snow, I lost my true lover For courting too slow. On top of Old Smokey, All covered with sand, I shot my school teacher, With an old rubber band. I shot her with pleasure, I shot her with pride, For I couldn't miss her, She was forty feet wide. She run out and catched me, Throwed me 'cross her knee, But in the seat of my britches, I had my old Geography. She reached for her ruler, And took a swipe at me, She missed old Kentucky, But she hit Tennessee. On top of Old Smokey All covered with dirt, I lost my suspenders My socks and my shirt. I lost my umbrella. I lost my pet frog. My food in my lunch box, Got ate by a dog. I lost my left sneaker, My hat and my comb. I lost my new toothbrush. I lost my way home. I found my way home, then I did sure enough. And I found my mommy With all of my stuff Yes I did (with all of my stuff!) On top of my pizza All covered with sauce Could not find the mushrooms I think they got lost. I looked in the closet I looked in the sink I looked in the cup that Held my cola drink. I looked in the saucepan Right under the lid No matter where I looked Those mushrooms stayed hid. Next time you make pizza I'm begging you, please Do not give me mushrooms But just plain old cheese. On top of spaghetti, All covered with cheese, I lost my poor meatball, When somebody sneezed. It rolled off the table, And on to the floor, And then my poor meatball, Rolled out of the door. It rolled in the garden, And under a bush, And then my poor meatball, Was nothing but mush. The mush was as tasty As tasty could be, And then the next summer, It grew into a tree. The tree was all covered, All covered with moss, And on it grew meatballs, And tomato sauce. So if you eat spaghetti, All covered with cheese, Hold on to your meatball, Whenever you sneeze. |
On Top of Old Smokey Camping Song 
