Wettin' it down, boss Wet it down Wipin' it off, boss Wipe it off. Doin' ten to twenty hard Swingin' twelve pounds in the yard Every day Every day. I came in with a group of twenty There ain't left but half as many In the clay In the clay. Long line rider, turn away.
There's a farm in Arkansas Got some secrets in its floor In decay In decay. You can tell where they're at Nothin' grows, the ground is flat Where they lay Where they lay. Long line rider, turn away.
All the records show so clear Not a single man was here Anyway Anyway. That's the tale the warden tells As he counts his empty shells By the day By the day. Hey, long line rider, turn away.
Somone screams investigate 'scuse me sir it's a little late Let us pray Let us pray. This kinda thing can't happen here 'specially not in an election year Outta my way Outta my way. Hey, long line rider, turn away.
There's a funny taste in the air Big bulldozers everywhere Diggin' clay Turnin' clay. And the ground coughs up some roots Wearin' denim shirts and boots Haul 'em away Haul 'em away. Hey, long line rider, turn away.
Well I heard a brother moan Why they plowin' up my home In this way In this way. I said, buddy, shake your gloom They're just here to make more room In the clay. U.S.A.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
