| Come to Wichita
|
| Won’t be there in forty days
|
| This, an evil land
|
| Brings a devil’s cloud
|
| Take a message
|
| To abide in what you own
|
| And there’ll be no more
|
| No more people singing
|
| La la la
|
| In one morning, you will be mine
|
| Where the fields are smiling
|
| No more people singing, «La la la»
|
| In one morning, you will be mine
|
| Where the fields are smiling
|
| Where the fields are smiling, ooh
|
| There by crook and fire
|
| And the squatter’s rights
|
| Don’t your cheek get sore
|
| And you mouth get dry?
|
| Sevens on your sleeve
|
| Haven’t counted days
|
| Then he slouches home
|
| To your loved one’s gate
|
| La la la
|
| In one morning, you will be mine
|
| Where the fields are smiling
|
| No more people singing, «La la la»
|
| In one morning, you will be mine
|
| Where the fields are smiling
|
| Where the fields are smiling, ooh
|
| With my pockets torn
|
| By a whirlwind
|
| Man takes what it needs
|
| Turns you inside-out
|
| Come to Wichita
|
| Won’t be there in forty days
|
| This, an evil land
|
| Brings a devil’s cloud
|
| La la la
|
| In one morning, you will be mine
|
| Where the fields are smiling
|
| No more people singing, «La la la»
|
| In one morning, you will be mine
|
| Where the fields are smiling
|
| Where the fields are smiling, ooh |