On a summer day,
in the month of May,
a burly bum came hiking
down a shady lane,
through the sugar cane.
He was looking for his lichen.
As he strolled along,
he hummed a song of a land of milk and honey,
where a bum can stay for many a day,
and he won't need any money.
In the big rock candy mountain,
there's a land that's fair and bright,
where the handouts grow on bushes,
and you sleep out every night.
Where the boxcars all are empty,
and the sun shines every day.
Oh,
the birds and the bees and the cigarette trees,
in the rock and rice springs,
where the bluebird sings,
in the big rock candy mountain.
In the big rock candy mountain,
you never change your socks,
and the little streams
of alcohol come a-trickling down the rocks,
where the brakemen have to tip their hats,
and the railroad bulls are blind.
There's the lakes of stew and the whiskey too,
you
can paddle all around in a big canoe,
in the big rock candy mountain.
In the big rock candy mountain,
the jails are made of tin,
and you can walk right out,
boys, as soon as you walk in.
There ain't no short-handled shovels,
no axes,
saws,
or
picks.
Oh,
I'm gonna stay where you sleep all day,
where they boil the oil,
the inventors
of toil, in the big rock candy mountain.
In the big rock candy mountain, the cops have
wooden legs,
and the bulldogs all have rubber teeth,
and the hens lay soft-boiled eggs.
The farmers' trees are full of fruit,
the barns are full of hay.
Oh, I'm bound to go
where there ain't no snow,
where the sleet don't fall,
and the wind don't blow,
in the big rock candy mountain.
Oh, come with me, and we'll go see
the big rock candy mountain.