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. 
CHORUS 
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.)