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(hm-mmmm) My grandfather broke this soil with a team of mules and
steel
He taught me how the dust of spring is something you can
feel
But the banker has a ledger
that doesn't care about the rain
Or fifty years of sweat we poured to build this fence again.
They can write their letters,
they can stamp their bold red ink
But I ain't leaving this valley,
no matter what they think
This dirt is in my blood,
this timber's in my bone
A working man will stand his ground to keep what is his
own.
I watched my daddy tire out
beneath this burning sun
He told me son you never yield until the harvest's done
Now the notice is on the screen-door,
they say my time is thin
But I'll work another eighteen hours before I let them win.
They can write their letters,
they can stamp their bold red ink
But I ain't leaving this valley,
no matter what they think
This dirt is in my blood,
this timber's in my bone
A working man will stand his ground to keep
what is his own.
No, they won't take this dirt
(no sir)