| E | |
| Lights in the parlor, fire's in the grate, |
| B7 | E | |
| Clock on the mantle says it's | gettin' | late. |
| Curtains on the window, snowy white, |
| B7 | E | |
| The parlor's pleasant on | Sunday | night |
| Chorus |
| E | |
| Ida Red, Ida Red, |
| B7 | E | |
| I'm a plumb fool bout | Ida | Red |
| Lamp on the table, picture on the wall, |
| B7 | E | |
| There's a pretty sofa and | that's not | all, |
| If I'm not mistaken and I'm sure I'm right, |
| B7 | E | |
| They's somebody else in the | parlor to- | night. |
| Chorus |
| Chicken in the bread bin peckin' out dough, |
| B7 | E | |
| Granny will ya dog bite? | No, chile, | no. |
| Hurry up boys and don't fool around, |
| B7 | E | |
| Grab your partner and | truck on | down. |
| Chorus |
| Lights a'burnin' dim, fire's a'gettin' low, |
| B7 | E | |
| Somebody says it's | time to | go. |
| I hear the whisper, gentle and light, |
| B7 | E | |
| Don't forget to come next | Sunday | night. |
| Chorus |
| My ol' Missus swore to me, |
| B7 | E | |
| When she died she'd | set me | free. |
| She lived so long her head got bald, |
| B7 | E | |
| She took a notion not to | die at | all. |
| Tbanks to bodaddle@flasb.net for tabs |