Honest Farmer or Boll Weevil I saw an honest farmer, His back was bending low. Picking out his cotton. He couldn't hardly go. He piled it up in rail pens Until the merchant come. That he might take their cotton And he might pay them some. Goodbye, boll weevil, You know you've ruint my home. You know you've got my cotton And the merchant's got my corn, I saw him in the summer, 'Twas hot as it could be. Strolling through the harvest field. The sweat was running free. He flang the cradle round him. And gripped the golden grain. Drew forth his handkerchief And wiped the sweat again. His footsteps they growed weary As he marched up the hill. Reached the little cabin And sot upon the sill. His wife she knelt beside him. Her hair turned silvery gray. Trust now in the Savior. We'll find a home some day. tune: Palms of Victory From Fiddlin' Jim Carson Recorded by Bob Coltman DT #664 SOF
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!