Mr. Collin he's a hauling hay but his barn is falling. He got a for sale sign on a rusty sixty-one Ford. The train used to stop down here at the station, but that old whistle, it don't blow round here no more. And time eases on, and now the good old days are gone
Now old Mack, he was an outlaw, ain't no denying. But Ms Wanita kept him coming home. Eleven kids, seven decades later. Like an old oak tree, he stands alone. She's laid beneath the stone. And now his good old days are gone
Father time, he's a heartless hunter, he'll sneak up from behind, steal away your youth and age your mind. Take away all the good things, and a few good folks left around, til everything you love is in the cold ground
Cause old butch, he was a north Louisiana legend. A country-preneur, the first and the last of his kind. Til behind the counter at the bait shop one cold morning, shots were fired and a small town cried. So let the Corny Queen, sail on, because the good old days are gone
Because the good old days are gone