I saw an honest farmer
His back was bending low
Picking out his cotton
As hard as he could go
He piled
It in the rail pen
Until the merchant came
That he might
Attach his cotton
That he should pay
His claim
It's pans of biscuits
Bowls of gravy
Pans of biscuits
We shall have
I saw him in the evening
His back was against a tree
His poor ole head was aching
He rolled up on his knee
I'll be
Compelled to go home
Or surely i will die
My head
Has commenced aching
I heard the farmer cry
It's pans of biscuits
Bowls of gravy
Pans of biscuits
We shall have
I've toiled
All my lifetime
And still
I find i'm poor
Without an education
My children's
Left my door
