An old man sat in his little cabin door,
in the hills where he was born.
His grandson begged him
to come and live with him,
in the city till his earthly days were done.
But the old man smiled as
he looked at the boy,
and laid his hand on his old
hound dog's head.
As he gazed through the trees
at the blue hills beyond,
these are the words that he said
These hills,
rock -ribbon ancient as the sun
These hills must be the place
where God's work first begun
For he was just from heaven
and he wanted to see
If he could make a place to look
like heaven's bound to be
These hills have fed and clothed me
through the years
These hills have laughed
and wept with me
through happiness and tears
These hills is where I want to stay
till I am called away
These hills are home, are my home
The boy shook his hand
and said, I'll come again
It was useless to say any more
His granddad he thought would
be out of place
Anywhere but in his little cabin door
But when he returned in
another week or two
The old man was asleep on his bed
He was gone from his hills
But as the boy dried his eyes
He recalled what the old man had said
These hills have fed and clothed me
Through the years
These hills have laughed
and wept with me
through happiness and tears
These hills is where I want to stay,
till I am called away
These hills, these hills are home,
are my home