SNOWBIRD Writer Gene MacLellan Beneath this snowy mantle cold and clean The unborn grass lies waiting for its coat to turn to green The snowbird sings
Beneath its snowy mantle cold and clean The unborn grass lies waiting for its coat to turn to green The snowbird sings the song he always sings And speaks
(words & music by Gene MacLellan) Beneath this snowy mantle cold and clean The unborn grass lies waiting for its coat to turn to green The snowbird sings
Beneath this snowy mantle cold and clean The unborn grass lies waiting for its coat to turn to green Snowbird sings the song he always sings And speaks
Beneath this snowy mantle cold and clean The unborn grass lies waiting for its coat to turn green The snowbird sings the songs he always sings And speaks
Beneath that snowy mantle, cold and clean The unborn grass lies waiting for its coat to turn to green The snowbird sings the song he always sings And
One, two, three, four Beneath this snowy mantle cold and clean The unborn grass lies waiting for its coat to turn to green The snowbird sings a song
Beneath this snowy mantle cold and clean The unborn grass lies waitin' for its coat to turn to green The snowbird sings the song he always sings And speaks
Fountains and fluorescent lights, the season has come The snowbirds have crowded the nights The townies are tired of beaches and bars, being packed so
like a snowbird Snowbird was just a little girl once, she was Snowbird was just a little girl once Snowbird was just a little girl once, she was Snowbird
I'm going too, I can hear that whistle cry. 'Cause I'm the kinda' bird that has to navigate Tourist class on a southbound freight But this snowbird
Beneath this snowy mantle cold and clean The unborn grass lies waiting for its coat to turn to green The snowbird sings the song he always sings And speaks
could, you know that I would fly away with you Snowbird, come fly away with me, with me Little snowbird, come fly away with me, with me Little snowbird
Fountains and flourescent lights. When season has come the snowbirds have crowded the nights. And old townies are tired of their beaches and bars being
Beneath this snowy mantle cold and clean the unborn grass lies waiting for its coat to turn to green the snowbird sings a song he always sings and speaks