Back in nineteen twenty seven
I had a little farm and I called it heaven
Prices up and the rain come down
I hauled my crops all into town
Got the money...bought clothes and groceries...
Fed the kids..and raised a big family
But the rain quit and the wind got high
Black old dust storm filled the sky
I traded my farm for a Ford machine
Poured it full of this gas-i-line
And started...rocking and a-rolling
Deserts and mountains...to California
Way up yonder on a mountain road
Hot motor and a heavy load
Going purty fast, wasn't even stopping
Bouncing up and down like popcorn a-popping
Had a breakdown..kind of a nervous bustdown
Mechanic feller there charged me five bucks
And said it was En-gine trouble
Way up yonder on a mountain curve
Way up yonder in a piney wood
I gave that rolling Ford a shove
Gonna coast just fars as I could
Commence a rolling..picking up speed
Come a hairpin turn..and I didn't make it
Man alive, I'm a telling you
The fiddles and guitars really flew
That Ford took off like a flying squirrel
Flew halfway around the world
Scattered wives and children
All over the side of that mountain
Got to California so dad-gum broke
So dad-gum hungry I thought I'd choke
I bummed up a spud or two
Wife fixed up some tater stew
We poured the kids full of it
Looked like a tribe of thy-mometers
arunning around
Lord, man, I swear to you
That was surely mighty thin stew
So damn thin I really mean
You could read a magizine
Right through it..look at the pictures too
Purty whiskey bottles..naked women
Always have thought, always figured
If that damn stew had been a little thinner
Some of these here politicians
Could of seen through it
@hardtimes
filename[ DUSTBOWL
SF
===DOCUMENT BOUNDARY
