POVERTY HILL



They come in their summery dress and jackets so fine

Rich folks who measure success with a big dollar sign

They gaze with delight at the rocks and the scraggly pine

They come in the spring and they stay til the fall

On Paradise Mountain, away from it all



Stubble and stone make a hard row to hoe

What little will grow the drought will kill

The summer folks call it Paradise Mountain

We call it Poverty Hill



They say we have beautiful faces as grainy as wood

Yeah, they'd like to live here, of all places,

if only they could

Well we don't get these wood grainy faces from living too good

Its the rocks and the dust and the sun and the heat

Its too much work and too little to eat

They pack and they say what a pity that they have to go

They say that Old Smoky's so pretty all covered with snow

But how we get thru the winter they never will know

No lard for the pantry, no grist for the mill

And winter's are hard over Poverty Hill



@political @poor

filename[ POVERHIL

SF

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