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Dear Momma, I'm writing to tell you,
I'm happy and I'm havin' a ball;
Well, I'm workin' and savin' my money, Momma,
So I can be home in the fall.
He was younger than a boy not yet twenty,
And his dreams were as big as his eyes;
He had left his sweet momma home waiting,
For the return of her lost Newfie boy.
Dear Momma, I'm writing to tell you,
That I'm happy and I'm havin' a ball;
Well, I'm workin' and I'm savin' my money, dear Momma,
So I can be home in the fall.
He had stopped on his way home from workin',
At a tavern just to hear the band play;
When a drunk in a fight for a woman,
Had a knife, took his young life away.
[Spoken] I had known him since he was a baby,
And as I packed his belongings that night,
I found his money and a picture of Momma,
And a letter he had started to write. And he wrote:
Dear Momma, I'm writing to tell you,
I'm happy and I'm havin' a ball;
I'm workin' and I'm savin' my money, Momma,
So I can be home in the fall.
I'm workin' and savin' my money, Momma,
So I can be home in the fall.
