(Guitar) 

On hic-ko-ry hill, 
stood a wood mill
A fam-ly owned farm, 
that none would harm 

It was quiet...
(Guitar) 

Most workers went home,
owner was walking a-lone
Just out for supplies,
no need for goodbyes 

He"d be back...
(Guitar) 

Downwind, shopping in the town...
Smiling, the stallion said a-loud
What a familiar sweet smell...
must be comin from Hic-ko-ry Hill 

And it is...
(Guitar) 

Not long a-go, he read in the paper

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