1.
Oh! waht is all this noise about,
And all this great commotion?
The quiv'ring leaves are on the breeze
Like ships upon the ocean.
The gath'ring storm has broke at last,
The tide is rising higher,
While plowmen bold have taken hold--
The prairies are on fire.
CHORUS
The plow, and sow, and reap, and mow,
And raise he corn to fill the barn,
While on to camp and field we tramp--
Good as Wheat for the Grangers.
2.
The soil is ours, we till the land,
And we'er the true producers,
No middleman can thwart our plan--
We scorn our vile traducers.
Our hands are sear'd with honest toll,
While skies are bright above us,
And, conscience clear we onward steer,
While aiding those who love us.
CHORUS
The plow, and sow, and reap, and mow,
And raise he corn to fill the barn,
While on to camp and field we tramp--
Good as Wheat for the Grangers.
3.
Then fill our ranks with honest hearts,
With steady handed yeomen,
While men of place with Janus face
We hold among our foemen,
Monopolies must surely fall,
Before our gath'ring furrows--
Our purpose true will lead us through.
Despise their wicked courses.
CHORUS
The plow, and sow, and reap, and mow,
And raise he corn to fill the barn,
While on to camp and field we tramp--
Good as Wheat for the Grangers.
Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa. |
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