Wetting it down, boss
Wet it down
Wiping it off, boss
Wipe it off
Doing ten to twenty hard
Swinging twelve pounds in the yard
Every day
Every day
I came in with a group of twenty
There ain't left but half as many
In the clay
In the clay
Long line rider
Turn away
There's a farm in Arkansas
Got some secrets in its floor
In decay
In decay
You can tell where they're at
Nothing grows, the ground is flat
Where they lay
Where they lay
Long line rider
Turn away
All the records show so clear
Not a single man was here
Anyway
Anyway
That's the tale the warden tells
As he counts his empty shells
By the day
By the day
Hey, long line rider
Turn away
Someone screams investigate
Excuse me sir it's a little late
Let us pray
Let us pray
This kinda thing can't happen here
Especially not in an election year
Outta my way
Outta my way
Hey, long line rider
Turn away
There's a funny taste in the air
Big bulldozers everywhere
Digging clay
Turning clay
And the ground coughs up some roots
Wearing denim shirts and boots
Haul them away
Haul them away
Hey, long line rider
Turn away
Well I heard a brother moan
Why they plowing up my home
In this way
In this way
I said, buddy, shake your gloom
They're just here to make more room
In the clay
USA