William Elliott Whitmore - Field Song lyrics

Write this down, and don't forget That the best of times aint happened yet The gilded age has long been done And so many lost when the west was won Let's go to the field were gonna do some work Spend our day digging in the dirt We'll hope for rain to follow the plow And this piece of ground is a homestead now This little piece of ground is a homestead now Three square meals and a living wage Reminds me of the good ol' days Before the manifest destiny of the factory farms When those cut throats came and burned down the barn Underneath the black locust tree There's a shady place that waits for me To rest my bones and to rest my mind I'm gonna rest right here when I die Write this down and don't forget That the best of times aint happened yet....