| I come from the mountains, Kentucky’s my home |
| Where the wild deer and black bear so lately did roam |
| By the cool rushing waterfall the wildflowers dream |
| And through every green valley, there runs a clear stream |
| Now there’s scenes of destruction on every hand |
| And only black waters run down through my land |
| Sad scenes of destruction on every hand |
| Black waters, black waters, run down through my land |
| Well, the quail, she’s a pretty bird and she sings a sweet tongue |
| In the roots of tall timber she nests with her young |
| The the hillside explodes with the dynamites roar |
| And the voice of the small bird is heard there no more |
| And the mountain comes a sliding so awful and grand |
| And the flooding black waters rise over my land |
| In the coming of springtime we planted our corn |
| In the ending of springtime we buried our son |
| In the summer come a nice man saying everything’s fine |
| My employer just requires a way to his mine |
| Then they tore down my mountain and covered my corn |
| Now the grave on the hillside 's a mile deeper down |
| And the man stands a talking with his hat in his hand |
| While the poison black waters rise over my land |
| Well I ain’t got no money, not much of a home |
| I own my own land, but my land’s not my own |
| But, if I had ten million, somewheres thereabout |
| Well, I’d buy Perry county and throw them all out |
| And just sit down on the banks with my bait and my can |
| And watch the clear waters run down through my land |
| Well, wouldn’t that be just like the old promised land? |
| Black waters, black waters no more in my land |
| Black waters, black waters no more in my land |