Sitting by the roadside on a summer's day Chatting with my mess-mates, passing time away Lying in the shadows underneath the trees Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas.
When a horse-man passes, the soldiers have a rule To cry out their loudest, "Mister, here's your mule!" But another custom, enchanting-er than these Is wearing out your grinders, eating goober peas.
Just before the battle, the General hears a row He says "The Yanks are coming, I hear their rifles now." He looks down the roadway, and what d'ya think he sees? The Georgia Militia cracking goober peas.
I think my song has lasted just about enough. The subject is interesting, but the rhymes are mighty rough. I wish the war was over, so free from rags and fleas We'd kiss our wives and sweethearts, say good-bye to goober peas.