The Grass Might Be Greener If They Had Smarter Friends

(A friend has been telling us about his trip back to where he was born.)

Friend: “That sounds so sweet. It makes me think of that song, Green, Green Grass of Home.” *starts singing the first verse* “It’s such a lovely song.”

Me: “But that song is about an execution.”

Friend: “Where did you hear that from? No, it’s not; it’s a lovely song. I’ve been singing it for years.”

Me: “Try singing the last verse.”

Friend: *singing* “Then I awake and look around me,

At four grey walls that surround me,

And I realize, yes, I was only dreaming,

For there’s a guard and there’s a sad old padre,

Arm in arm, we’ll walk at daybreak,

Again I touch the green, green grass of home.”

*stops singing*  “What’s wrong with that?”

Me: *internally face-palming* “Four grey walls are a prison cell. A guard and a padre?”

Friend: “That could be anything.”

Me: “Okay, what about the last line?”

Friend: “He’s lying under the old oak tree.”

Me: “They lay him under the grass by the old oak tree.”

Friend: “Holy s***; why didn’t I notice that? I was going to sing this song at the old folks home next week.”