Fred Eaglesmith - Harold Wilson lyrics

Harold Wilson is my name, son Why don't you sit a spell I live right here on the Fergusson Road At the Paradise Motel And though you do not know me There's a story I like to tell It's a story that I'm sure you know well It's a story that I'm sure you know well I had me a place on Thunder Ridge In a doomsday shack My wife had left and took the kids A couple of years back And I spent most of my mornings Thinking about that And my afternoons trying to figure out what to plant I spent my afternoons trying to figure out what to plant Did you ever try to farm a farm With a pick and a shovel Try to put a field into corn Just wouldn't grow nothin' Starin' down across the town You wonder why I even bother When up the road there's a vacant room Climate control and colour And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars There wasn't money in corn And there wasn't money in beans They took my telephone, shut off my electricity Then a letter came in the mail Saying there's taxes owed by me If I was ever going to pay Well, I had three weeks If I was ever going to pay Well, I had three weeks Did you ever try to farm a farm With a pick and a shovel Try to put a field into corn Just wouldn't grow nothin' Starin' down across the town You wonder why I even bother When up the road there's a vacant room Climate control and colour And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars Well, they sold that farm to some fool for ten cents on the dollar I saw him out there last week, I was on my way to visit my daughter And that son of a gun was out there Trying to hook a windmill up to water When he heard me laugh, well, he turned and I swear he hollered When he heard me laugh, well, he turned, I swear he hollered Did you ever try to farm a farm With a pick and a shovel Try to put a field into corn Just wouldn't grow nothin' Starin' down across the town You wonder why I even bother When up the road there's a vacant room Climate control and colour And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars Now the government cheques come down the pike As regular as rain And I sit outside most nights 'Cept when the June bugs drive me in Harold Wilson is my name, son Why don't you sit a spell I live right here on the Fergusson Road At the Paradise Motel