Woorden: Kate Campbell. Pans Of Biscuits.

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