These cotton fields with rows so long,
We hoe and chop and sing our song.
Each one of us will make a verse,
Some good, some bad, and some are worse.
When weeds are gone, we clear the roads,
Get bit by snakes, get warts from toads.
Down in these willows hung with moss,
We slave all day for one called Boss.
If you come south for just a day,
Don't break the law or here you'll stay.
I guess it's better than to hang,
But life is h**l on this chain gang.
Tags: