| Times, they ain’t like nothing they used to be
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| From rocky mount' to northeast Tennessee
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| Where the river flows with a dusty, coal disease
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| And the babies whine cause they can’t find nothing to eat
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| But, mama, she ain’t hungry no more
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| She’s waiting for a knock on the trailer door
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| It’s gonna rock you like a hurricane
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| It’s gonna rock you 'til you lose sleep
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| It’s gonna rock you 'til you’re out of a job
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| It’s gonna rock you 'til you’re out on the street
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| It’s gonna rock you 'til you’re down on your knees
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| It’s gonna have you begging pretty please
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| It’s gonna rock you like a hurricane
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| Methamphetamine
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| Don’t need no PhD for a hundred dollar card
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| Just find a crooked cop and that doctor disregard
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| Cause when it’s either the mine or the Kentucky national guard
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| Um, I’d rather sell him a line than to be dying in the coal yard
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| Now, papa, he ain’t hungry no more
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| He’s waiting for a knock on the trailer door
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| Well, it’s a war out there, and it’s fought by poor white men
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| From the plateau to the falls of the Cumberland
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| You better watch your back, cause you just can’t trust a friend
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| And the method man is going to get you in the end
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| So listen to the whispering wind
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| It sounds like a big storm rolling in |