When I was a curly headed baby
My daddy sat me down on his knee
He said, go to school and get your letters
Don’t you be a dusty miner like me

I was born and raised at the mouth of hazard hollow
The coal cars rolled and rumbled past my door
But now they stand in a rusty row, all empty
And the L & N don’t stop here anymore

I used to think my daddy was a black man
With script enough to buy the company store
But now he goes to town with empty pockets
And his face is white as a February snow

I never thought I’d learn to love the coal dust
I never thought I’d pray to hear that whistle roar
Oh, god, I wish the grass would turn to money
And those green backs would fill my pockets once more

Last night I dreamed I went down to the coal yard
To draw my pay as I had done before
Them old kudzu vines covered the window
Trees and grass growing through the floor