| I feel it’s time to go
|
| But how or where to, I don’t know
|
| A man came with a letter in hand
|
| And he said that the company had taken our land
|
| And they came with tractors and plows
|
| Into the valley that used to be ours
|
| And the seeds were sown
|
| And now we will go
|
| Down to the white fields
|
| The white fields that grow so deep
|
| And we’ll go down to the white fields
|
| And work hard to reap the harvest grown
|
| And then the company set up a store
|
| Where we could buy all our food and a little bit more
|
| Yeah, you don’t work, don’t get no pay
|
| There’s plenty more who would kill for less today
|
| And then the flower that colors the fields
|
| Colors our minds, makes it hard to feel
|
| And the seeds are sown
|
| And now we will go
|
| Down to the white fields
|
| The white fields that grow so deep
|
| And we’ll go down to the white fields
|
| And work hard to reap the harvest grown
|
| And they came with tractors and plows
|
| Into the valley that used to be ours
|
| And the seeds were sown
|
| And now we must go
|
| Down to the white fields
|
| The white fields that grow so deep |
| And we’ll go down to the white fields
|
| And work for our keep
|
| Down to the white fields, the white fields
|
| And work hard to reap the harvest grown
|
| Oh
|
| Oh |