[Intro: snare roll, sousaphone, brass shout] (Hey now!) (Closed for good!) [Verse 1] Bolton's Hardware held the corner since my daddy was a boy Keys cut while you waited, and a jar of broken toys Mr. Bolton sold the washers and the screen door springs Knew your name and knew your dog and never charged for little things Saturday they taped a sign up, paper curling in the rain Closing after forty years, last sale ends at six again Mama said we oughta cry, but Uncle Leon said we dance So we called the brass boys up and gave the goodbye half a chance [Pre-Chorus] (Bring the chairs, bring the chairs) From the basement of St. Mark (Bring the chairs, bring the chairs) We are marching till it's dark [Chorus] Folding chairs, folding chairs Clacking down the street Folding chairs, folding chairs Metal on concrete Sousaphone is moaning and the trumpet's got a tear We are walking Mr. Bolton out of forty honest years Folding chairs, folding chairs Open like a fan Folding chairs, folding chairs For the hardware man [Verse 2] Mrs. Chen brought crawfish pies on a card table she stole From the fellowship hall closet with a coffee urn and bowls Kids were jumping curb to curb with streamers on a stick Old man Percy played the washboard till his thumbs got thick Bolton locked the front door with a key as old as rust Put it in his shirt pocket like a letter you can trust Then he climbed up on a milk crate and he waved us with both hands And the trombone hit a low note that could empty out the stands [Pre-Chorus] (Bring the chairs, bring the chairs) From the basement of St. Mark (Bring the chairs, bring the chairs) We are marching till it's dark [Chorus] Folding chairs, folding chairs Clacking down the street Folding chairs, folding chairs Metal on concrete Sousaphone is moaning and the trumpet's got a tear We are walking Mr. Bolton out of forty honest years Folding chairs, folding chairs Open like a fan Folding chairs, folding chairs For the hardware man [Bridge: stop-time brass, spoken feel] He sold my first hammer. He sold the nails that held my porch. He sold the glue that fixed the birdhouse after the storm. (Hey now!) So we carry him the only way this block knows how. Loud. Slow. Together. [Final Chorus: full band, kids cheer very low] Folding chairs, folding chairs Clacking down the street Folding chairs, folding chairs Metal on concrete (Closed for good!) Sousaphone is moaning and the trumpet's got a tear We are walking Mr. Bolton out of forty honest years (Go, Mr. Bolton!) Folding chairs, folding chairs Stacked back in the van Folding chairs, folding chairs For the hardware man [Outro: snare fade, sousaphone alone] (Hey now) (Closed for good) Key in his pocket.
