C                        G
    I've sung this song, but I'll sing it again,
             C                        G
    of the place that I lived on the wild windy plains,
            C          C7           F
    in the month called April, the county called Gray,
         G                      G7           C
    and here's what all of the people there say:

 C
"So long, it's been good to know yuh,
G                            C
so long, it's been good to know yuh,
    C7         F
so long, it's been good to know yuh,
      C                   G
this dusty old dust is a-gettin' my home,
      G7                  C
and I got to be driftin' along."

       C                     G
    A dust storm hit, an' it hit like thunder,
        C                      G
    it dusted us over, an' it covered us under,
      C              C7           F
    blocked out the traffic an' blocked out the sun,
       G                       G7         C
    straight for home all the people did run, singin':

        C                        G
    We talked of the end of the world, and then,
         C                     G
    we'd sing a song an' then sing it again.
          C          C7       F
    We'd sit for an hour an' not say a word,
         G          G7             C
    and then these words would be heard:

      C                     G
    Sweethearts sat in the dark and sparked,
          C                         G
    they hugged and kissed in that dusty old dark.
          C          C7     F
    They sighed and cried, hugged and kissed,
         G                    G7           C
    instead of marriage, they talked like this: "Honey..."

              C                      G
    Now, the telephone rang, an' it jumped off the wall,
      C                       G
    that was the preacher, a-makin' his call.
         C           C7          F
    He said, "Kind friend, this may be the end,
             G                       G7          C
    an' you got your last chance of salvation of sin!"

          C                            G
    The churches was jammed, and the churches was packed,
              C                     G
    an' that dusty old dust storm blowed so black.
      C            C7          F
    Preacher could not read a word of his text,
            C
    an' he folded his specs, an' he took up collection, said: