Write this down, and don't forget
That the best of times aint happened yet
The gilded age has long been done
And so many lost when the west was won
Let's go to the field were gonna do some work
Spend our day digging in the dirt
We'll hope for rain to follow the plow
And this piece of ground is a homestead now
This little piece of ground is a homestead now
Three square meals and a living wage
Reminds me of the good ol' days
Before the manifest destiny of the factory farms
When those cut throats came and burned down the barn
Underneath the black locust tree
There's a shady place that waits for me
To rest my bones and to rest my mind
I'm gonna rest right here when I die
Write this down and don't forget
That the best of times aint happened yet....
Field Song Lyrics performed by William Elliott Whitmore are property and copyright of the authors, artists and labels. You should note that Field Song Lyrics performed by William Elliott Whitmore is only provided for educational purposes only and if you like the song you should buy the CD