I was standing by my window one fine morning,
Without a though of worry or of care,
When i saw the postman coming up the pathway
With such a jolly face and jaunty air.
He rang the bell and whistled while he waited,
And then he said, " Good morning to you, Jack!"
But he little knew the happiness he brought me
When he handed me that record edged in black.
With trembling hands I took the record from him;
I opened it and put it on to play.
When I heard that old-time singer with his banjo,
It changed my very life right from that day.
I didn't know a thing about the singer.
As I read the liner notes from front to back,
And the only song I recognized, "Tom Dooley,"
On that wonderful first record edged in black.
Now, since that time, I've heard a lot of music,
And I learned to sing and play a bit, myself,
From those songs and singers that I grew to cherish
In that black-bound stack of records on the shelf.
I used to wait just for the postman's visit,
Coming up the pathway with his pack;
'Cause I knew the kind of music that could move me
Was found upon those records edged in black.
But harder times have hit the record business;
It's tough to make a go, I've heard it said.
And little folky companies like this one
Do most of their accounts in ink of red.
You've got to get the customer's attention
As he browses through the old folk record rack.
It's been a couple years, or even longer,
Since I've seen a good old record edged in black.
I know you can't return to days back yonder.
The world turns toward the morning, so they say.
But I, for one, would not be too unhappy
If a few things never changed from day to day.
I'd like to see the postman one fine morning,
Coming up the pathway with his pack,
He'd never know the happiness he'd bring me
If he handed me a record edged in black.