There ain't much that's left here that ain't all run down.
Gone all the echoes of old familiar sound.
Families are scattered, parted, and gone.
Left a lot of good things to wither away back home.
(Chorus:) Can't you feel those hills around you?
Can't you feel that touch of home?
And don't you wish you'd never gone?
There are some things memories can't bring home.
Hills of home, hills of home,
Families scattered off and gone.
These old hills that have been passed by,
Old familiar dirt roads wind through the piney glade,
Where all the longing of childhood dreams were made,
Where we passed the mossy mounds where I could run and play,
Never a care to cross my mind all the livelong day. (Chorus)