Wettin' it down, boss
|
Wet it down
|
Wipin' it off, boss
|
Wipe it off.
|
Doin' ten to twenty hard
|
Swingin' twelve pounds in the yard
|
Every day
|
Every day.
|
I came in with a group of twenty
|
There ain't left but half as many
|
In the clay
|
In the clay.
|
Long line rider, turn away.
|
|
There's a farm in Arkansas
|
Got some secrets in its floor
|
In decay
|
In decay.
|
You can tell where they're at
|
Nothin' grows, the ground is flat
|
Where they lay
|
Where they lay.
|
Long line rider, turn away.
|
|
All the records show so clear
|
Not a single man was here
|
Anyway
|
Anyway.
|
That's the tale the warden tells
|
As he counts his empty shells
|
By the day
|
By the day.
|
Hey, long line rider, turn away.
|
|
Somone screams investigate
|
'scuse me sir it's a little late
|
Let us pray
|
Let us pray.
|
This kinda thing can't happen here
|
'specially not in an election year
|
Outta my way
|
Outta my way.
|
Hey, long line rider, turn away.
|
|
There's a funny taste in the air
|
Big bulldozers everywhere
|
Diggin' clay
|
Turnin' clay.
|
And the ground coughs up some roots
|
Wearin' denim shirts and boots
|
Haul 'em away
|
Haul 'em away.
|
Hey, long line rider, turn away.
|
|
Well I heard a brother moan
|
Why they plowin' up my home
|
In this way
|
In this way.
|
I said, buddy, shake your gloom
|
They're just here to make more room
|
In the clay.
|
U.S.A
|
|
-----------------
|
Long Line Rider
|
| Bobby Darin |
