Campfire Songs
Run by the Retired Scouter.

Retired Scouter Campfire Songs 

Grandma's Feather Bed

When I was a little biddy boy,
Just up off the floor,
We used to go down to grandma's house,
Every month end or so.
We'd have chicken pie, country ham,
Home-made butter on the bread,
But the best darn thing about grandma's house
Was the great big feather bed.
It was nine feet high, six feet wide,
Soft as a downy chick,
It was made of the feathers of four-eleven geese
And a whole roll of cloth for the tick.
It could hold eight kids, four hound dogs
And the piggy that we stole from the shed,
Didn't get much sleep but we had a lot of fun
In grandma's feather bed.
After supper we'd sit around the fire,
The old folks spit and chew,
Pa would talk about the farm in the war
And Grandma sing a ballad or two.
Well I'd sit and listen and watch the fire
Till the cobwebs filled my head,
Next thing I knew I'd wake up in the morning
In the middle of the old feather bed.
Now I love my Ma, I love my Pa,
I love Grannie and Grampa too,
Been fishing with my uncle, wrestled with my cousin
And even kissed Aunt Sue. (Foo.)
But if I ever had to make a choice,
I think it oughta be said
That I'd trade them all plus the girl down the road
For Grandma's feather bed.
(Well, maybe not the girl down the road.)