| I was born long ago, in eighteen ninety four
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| I’ve seen many a panic I will own
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| I’ve been hungry, I’ve been cold, and now I’m growin' old
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| But the worst I’ve seen is nineteen thirty one
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| Oh those beans, bacon and gravy
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| They almost drive me crazy
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| I eat them 'til I see them in my dreams
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| In my dreams
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| When I wake up in the morning
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| And another day is dawning
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| I know I’ll have another mess of beans
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| Well we congregate each morning, at the county barn at dawning
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| Everyone is happy so it seems
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| But when our day’s work is done, and we pile in one by one
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| And thank the Lord for one more mess of beans
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| We’ve Hooverized on butter, and for milk we’ve only water
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| And I haven’t seen a steak in many a day
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| As for pies, cakes and jellies, we substitute sour bellies
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| For which we work the county road each day
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| If there ever comes a time, when I have more than a dime
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| They will have to put me under lock and key
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| For they’ve had me broke so long, I can only sing this song
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| Of the workers and their misery |