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
@farm @bug
tune: Palms of Victory
From Fiddlin' Jim Carson
Recorded by Bob Coltman
filename[ BOLWEV2
SF
===DOCUMENT BOUNDARY