David Mallett - Greenin up

There's an ^Gold horse in the pasture, And ^Cjust like me he's ^Dseen his better ^Gdays. Well he ^Gsniffs the air this mornin', And his ^Ceyes take on an ^Dold familiar ^Gglaze. He ^Gkicks his heels, ^Dthrows his head, An' ^Clooks right at me like I understood. That it's ^Gspringtime in the country, And the ^Dpasture grass is greenin' up real ^Ggood.

There's a ^Gbullfrog in the bog behind my ^Chouse, And he'll be ^Dmakin' such a ^Gsound. ^GAlong late in the afternoon, ^CRight up 'till the ^Devening sun goes ^Gdown. And he's happy to be livin' in a ^Cworld, Of fiddleheads and rotten ^Cwood. And it's ^Gspringtime in the country, And the ^Dpasture grass is greenin' up real ^Ggood.

Greenin' up real ^Cgood, lookin' mighty ^Dfine, Every little ^Gseed, comin' right ^Con time. Up across the ^Gfield, up into the ^Dwood, It's greenin' up real ^Ggood.

Well I ^Gwork all day in the garden, This ^Ctime of year there's ^Djust too much to ^Gdo. But there's a ^Gfishin' pole in the corner, And it's ^Cstrung up with a ^Dline as fine as ^Gdew. Tomorrow ^Gthere'll be ^Dlots of time, To ^Cdo the million things I know I ^Gshould. But it's ^Gspringtime in the country, And the ^Dpasture grass is greenin' up real ^Ggood.

Greenin' up real ^Cgood, lookin' mighty ^Dfine, Every little ^Gweed, every little ^Cvine. Where the open ^Gfield, gives way to ^Dthe wood, It's greenin' up real ^Ggood.

It's greenin' up real ^Cgood, lookin' mighty ^Dfine, Every little ^Gseed, comin' right ^Con time. Up across the ^Gfield, up into the ^Dwood, It's greenin' up real ^Ggood.