Grandpa's Whiskers

I have a dear old Grandpa
His hair is turning grey,
He has a pair of whiskers,
They're always in the way !


Oh they're always in the way,
The cows eat them for hay.
They cover the dirt,
On Grandpa's shirt,
They're always in the way.

I have a dear old uncle
He owns a Ford machine
He uses Grandpa's whiskers
To strain the gasoline !


I have a dear old Grandma
And when she goes to sleep,
She chews on Grandpa's whiskers,
And thinks they're shredded wheat !


Every Monday morning,
We gather in a group,
To watch Grandpa's whiskers
A dangling in the soup.