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Я бы не назвал это песней - скорее выступление комика, пусть и с музыкальным фоном

Ahh, my home town..I can see it all so clearly.
There's a young boy standing on snow covered path.
It was June, but my father got it cheap from a man he knew.
I can still see my grey-haired old mother..off in the distance, waving to me...from the back of the police vagon..a tear forming in the corner of her eye.. (She must have loved you very much) . No, conjunctivitis.

We were poor..but that didn't stop us being miserable..there were 8 of us, kids..
9 hungry mouths to feed...we never did work out where that extra mouth came from..
Yes..Yes I remember so much..I remember the corn, swaying in the breeze..I remember the swing, swaying in the yard..I remember swaying goodbye...Looking down at my father, in that long pine box...my dear sweet father..and saying "it's ok, you can come out now, the landlord has gone"

I remember my first sweetheart..I remember the first time we held hands...the first time we kissed...the first time I stole money out of her purse..
Ahh, happy days..And then..and then came the great war..it tore us apart..I was devastated..she was killed going over the top in France..just like I'm going over the top now...

It was never the same between us after that.. Nail my gal from another lumberjack on the fire..and I'll tell you a tale of this place of wonder...

Да!