We’ll go hickory nut picking the first frost, I know.
And again, I know, I won’t want to go.
When it’s just too cold to get out of bed
Under white woolen blankets striped yellow and red,
With pillows piled under and over my head.
But we’ll go down to the country, we will.
And there we’ll find the best hickory nuts still.
So small, and so little meat to eat;
So hard to open for so little treat.
But I’ll take my grocery sack to fill,
And I'll pretend I’m happy, I will.
‘Cause this is their favorite time of year
When the frost is on and the sky is clear.
Haven’t been to the country since I don’t know when.
And I’ll not go hickory nut-picking again.
But on frosty mornings, bright and clear,
When blankets are pulled up tight and near,
I’ll dream of sacks full, and Grandma and Grandpa,
At this hickory nut-picking time of year.
