Lyrics
Back when I was seventeen
My friend John Dustin, he sold weed
He used to let me smoke for free
So I'd help him make his rounds
He always kept his pager on
'Cause back then nobody had cell phones
He'd get a page and we'd be gone
Must have moved a thousand pounds
God bless the good old days
When all we had to do was ride and blaze
Yeah we'd head out towards Elkhart
And cut across to Lost Prairie Lake
But those backroads seem a hundred miles away
God bless the good old days
We'd try to get to school by eight
But most of the time we'd roll up late
We'd have eyes as red as Hades Gate
And we smelled like Cheech and Chong
We'd drop a couple of drops of clear eyes in
And take one last hit and then stroll on in
Chunk the deuce to all our friends
No we couldn't do no wrong
God bless the good old days
When all we had to do was ride and blaze
I can go from Westwood to Mont Alba
About a hundred different ways
But those backroads seem a thousand miles away
God bless the good old days
They say that gettin' high and gettin' stoned
Is an awful waste of time
But the memories that I cherish most
Are of a fat ass homegrown dime
And God bless the good old days
When there weren't no mouths to feed or no bills to pay
We'd go all the way to Jacksonville
And never touch highway
But those backroads seem a million miles away
God bless the good old days
God bless the good old days
God bless the good old days
God bless the good old days