Thirteen grand
A year in the Meadowlands
Bored and rural-poor, Lord, at 35, right?
I'm the best seventeen-year-old ever
Worked these sands
I won't go back again
Quitter, quitter, one boy bitter - rough luck
Man to man, hand to hand, fight forty
We're losing sand!
A wrens' ditch battle plan
Record after record, black and deckered, tack, tack!
Definition: hell and high water
Fatty come a courtin', Lord, the money!
Everyone choose sides
The whole to-do of what to do for money
Poorer or not this year and hell's the difference
Let's talk plans
And luck said, "Double damned
Were you give women worth winning or what?
A wasted share of shots at high-tide heaven"
Greener grasses fade from where you wind up
Everyone choose sides
I'm back! I'm back! So sing to raise the blind up
I've walked away from more than you imagine, and I sleep just fine
We fought and brought up more - the shovel's high up
On the 10-ton line