With his long white beard and his crooked step He tramps along with the folks all left With a twinkle in his eye he passes them by The old man of the mountain
He wears long hair but his feet are bare They say he's mad as an old march hare His cares are none and he owes no one The old man of the mountain
He talks with the birds when he's lonely Sleeps with the stars for a tent While the bees spread a feast when he's hungry And God charges no rent
He'll live as long as an old oak tree And laugh at fools like you and me I often sigh and wish that I were The old man of the mountain.