BIG VALLEY - under the teamsters seat

Back in the times that I come from in the days of yester and yore
There traveled a group of other folks through the hills of apples and pinafores.

The dream sellers wandered the streets of Belle and clopped up the road in the Ville. Recognized by Quaker'd hats worn by men or black bonnet'd women, if you will.

They sold  moon  pies  and gobs they'd baked, and eggs from clucks they kept. And udder juice, sweet and fresh, bottled and cold at the front doorstep.

And 'round my mum's skirt I'd watch buggy and horse, the  animal would dance and snort, they sold, if you asked, for money and stuff, dreams of a various sort.

Some dreams led you out of big valley and scattered you 'cross the loam. One I heard fed you quite well but left you each night all alone. And one I recall, t'was popular too, promised long life, riches and all...but folks didn't always buy that dream, cause at the end all their castles would fall.

They'd took us in with baskets of treats and we indulged in delight of the sweets. But not of the checkered cloth covered basket of dreams...kept under the teamster's seat.