It's a summer afternoon, somewhere in Kansas or Illinois or Oklahoma. The wind is blowing the leaves down the gutter as the mailman comes by. "Afternoon Mrs. Higgins, hot enough for ya?" Over on Stone County Road there's the smell of chicken frying.



"Henry! It's getting t'wards suppertime you know. Henry!"



There she calls from her second floor room

The end of a back porch afternoon

Where we'd stand on the bow of our own man-of-war

No longer the back porch any more

And we'd sail pulling for China

The pirates of Stone County Road

All weathered and blown

And we'd sail ever in glory

'Till hungry and tired

The pirates of Stone County Road

Were turning for home



"Henry! You better be getting on up to bed now, don't ya know, Henry!"



There she calls from her high wicker chair

As I climb to my room up the stair

Where the wind through the shutters

Sends the mainsail to fall

From the shadow of the bedpost on the wall

And we'd sail pulling for China

The pirates of Stone County Road

Weathered and blown

And we'd sail ever in glory

'Till hungry and tired

The pirates of Stone County Road

Were turning for home



"Henry! Can you hear me, Henry. Are you up there Henry? Henry!"