Take your harvest from the soil
That is blacker than the color of the coal
But you're never gonna keep anything you try to reap
If you pull it from the dusty Georgia bowl
All the blossoms from the Magnolia
Have shriveled up and fallen to the ground
And I know I should have told you
That the rust was gonna tear your engine down
When the stone's above your head
And you're driving in the nails
When you're gone what kind of song are they gonna sing?
When the clay falls upon the pine
All that remains is what you leave behind
When you're lying with that stone above your head
Sit and listen, tune them in
Hear the trials and the hardships of my kin
Taken by the tones of the Cactus and the Rose
And the rhymes that Garry Stewart used to spin
All the easy people running to me
You can see their chickens running through the yard
Put them on the table every Sunday
Then they bow their heads and give thanks to the Lord