HONEST FARMER or BOLL WEEVIL



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

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