I've got a spade and a pick-axe

And a hundred miles square of land to churn about

My old horse is weary but sincerely

I believe that he can pull a plough

Well I've moved into the jungle of the agriculture rumble,

To grow my own food

And I'll dig and plough and scrape the weeds

Till I succeed in seeing cabbage growing through



Now I'm a farmer, and I'm digging, digging, digging, digging, digging

Now I'm a farmer, and I'm digging, digging, digging, digging, digging

It's alarming how charming it is to be a-farming

How calming and balming the effect of the air



Well, I farmed for a year and grew a crop of corn

That stretched as far as the eye can see

That's a whole lot of cornflakes,

Near enough to feed New York till 1973

Cultivation is my station and the nation

Buys my corn from me immediately

And holding sixty thousand bucks, I watch as dumper trucks

Tip New York's corn flakes in the sea



Now I'm a farmer, and I'm digging, digging, digging, digging, digging

Now I'm a farmer, and I'm digging, digging, digging, digging, digging

It's alarming how charming it is to be a-farming

How calming and balming the effect of the air



Now look here son

The right thing to say

Isn't necessarily what you want to say

The right thing to do

Isn't necessarily what you want to do

The right things to grow

Ain't necessarily what you want to grow

Your own happiness

Doesn't necessarily teach you what you want to know



Well I'm suntanned and deep, so's the horse

And my hands are deeply grained

Old horse is a-grazing, it's amazing

Just how lazily he took the strain

Well my pick and spade are rusty,

Because I'm paid on trust to