I got 16 acres
of mouldy wet hay
laying in the field
fer a week and a day.
There's nothin' ta do
if the sun don't shine
but slop thru the mud
and cry an' whine.
haven't seen the sun since
I don't know when
probably be dead
when I see it again.
pull my head out of the mud
and give it a shake
them righteous folk
gonna think it's a quake.
gonna beat the weather
gonna never yield
gonna bale my hay
off that soggy field.
when the hay gets dry
we work 'til we drop
we bale like hell
'til we hav'ta stop.
damp an' slimey
lots of gooey slugs
leaving trails of mucus
in the stinkin' mud
if the sun comes out
and dries that slime
them trails get shiny
and look real fine.
just how long
can this weather last?
my breakin' limit's
gonna get here fast
them folks in town.
just don't understan'
what it's gotta take
ta be a farmin' man!
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