"Wettin' it down, boss
     Wet it down
     Wipin' it off, boss
     Wipe it off.
     Doin' ten to twenty hard
     Swingin' twelve pounds in the yard
     Every day
     Every day.
     I came in with a group of twenty
     There ain't left but half as many
     In the clay
     In the clay.
     Long line rider, turn away.
     There's a farm in Arkansas
     Got some secrets in its floor
     In decay
     In decay.
     You can tell where they're at
     Nothin' grows, the ground is flat
     Where they lay
     Where they lay.
     Long line rider, turn away.
     All the records show so clear
     Not a single man was here
     Anyway
     Anyway.
     That's the tale the warden tells
     As he counts his empty shells
     By the day
     By the day.
     Hey, long line rider, turn away.
     Somone screams investigate
     'scuse me sir it's a little late
     Let us pray
     Let us pray.
     This kinda thing can't happen here
     'specially not in an election year
     Outta my way
     Outta my way.
     Hey, long line rider, turn away.
     There's a funny taste in the air
     Big bulldozers everywhere
     Diggin' clay
     Turnin' clay.
     And the ground coughs up some roots
     Wearin' denim shirts and boots
     Haul 'em away
     Haul 'em away.
     Hey, long line rider, turn away.
     Well I heard a brother moan
     Why they plowin' up my home
     In this way
     In this way.
     I said, buddy, shake your gloom
     They're just here to make more room
     In the clay.
     U.S.A.
"