In a Mississippi cotton pickin' Delta town one dusty street to walk up and down Nothin' much to see but a starvin' hound in a Mississippi cotton pickin' Delta town
Down in the Delta where I was born all we raised was cotton potatoes and corn I've picked cotton till my fingers hurt draggin' the sack through that Delta dirt And I've worked hard the whole week long pickin' my fingers to the blood and bone There ain't a lot of money in a cotton bale at least when you try to sell In a Mississippi cotton pickin'...
On Saturday nights we'd get dressed up catch us a ride on a pickup truck On a gravel road it nearly string to lust that cotton pickin' Delta dust We'd sit across the street on the depot porch lookin' at the folks lookin' back at us Munchin' on a dust covered ice cream cone and wondering how we'd get back home From a Mississippi cotton pickin'... From a Mississippi cotton pickin'...Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
