There's a little white note on a gate by the road
|
That a man put up yesterday
|
And when we saw it we all ran out
|
Just to see what it had to say
|
And when we read it our eyes filled with tears
|
And they fell to the cold hard clay
|
Something 'bout a mortgage
|
Something 'bout foreclosure
|
Something 'bout failing to pay
|
Oh and on the post by the general store
|
They've put up a little sign
|
An auction sale, day after tomorrow
|
At the end of the Lincoln Line
|
Thirty years of farming
|
Thirty years of heartache
|
Thirty years of day to day
|
Oh my Daddy stopped talking
|
The day the farm was auctioned
|
There was nothing left to say
|
Oh my Mama's tears fell freely down
|
As she walked amongst the flowers in the yard
|
And every number the auctioneer called
|
Was like a blow to her precious heart
|
And every number the auctioneer called
|
Meant another thing was sold that day
|
Till everything was auctioned
|
And we stood there watching
|
As they loaded it and drove it away
|
Oh and on the post by the general store
|
They've put up a little sign
|
An auction sale, day after tomorrow
|
At the end of the Lincoln Line
|
Thirty years of farming
|
Thirty years of heartache
|
Thirty years of day to day
|
Oh my Daddy stopped talking
|
The day the farm was auctioned
|
There was nothing left to say
|
At the day's first dawning
|
We awoke this morning
|
There was nothing for us to do
|
Nothing in the granary
|
No hay in the meadow
|
No cattle, no tractor, no tools
|
So we loaded up the car
|
With the clothes that we wore
|
And the few things we managed to save
|
Mama read from the Book
|
We took one last look
|
And then we drove away
|
Oh and on the post by the general store
|
They've put up a little sign
|
An auction sale day after tomorrow
|
At the end of the Lincoln Line
|
Thirty years of farming
|
Thirty years of heartache
|
Thirty years of day to day
|
Oh my Daddy stopped talking
|
The day the farm was auctioned
|
There was nothing left to say
|
Oh my Daddy stopped talking
|
The day the farm was auctioned
|
There was nothing left to say
|
|
-----------------
|
Thirty Years Of Farming
|
| Fred Eaglesmith |
