Mr Brown
Mr Brown's big old shoes
Always spread on his blue car
Car as old as moonlight
Laughter it gives to look at
Mr Brown wouldn't care...
It is an old gift
He would tell me and Mata
'My dead wife gave me'...
'I will wear till death'
And then he would give us a Rose
We would smile real wide
And giggle hard, then run home
But drop by his wife's old grave
Just to drop her the sweet rose
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