His daddy was an honest man, red dirt Georgia farmer His mama lived her short life having kids and baling hay He had fifteen years, an ache inside to wander He hopped a freight in Waycross, wound up in L.A. Lord, the cold nights had no pity on a Waycross

The farmer is the man, the farmer is the man (Traditional, adapted by Ry Cooder) (D) - (A) - (E) (A) We worked through Spring and Winter, through (D) Summer and through (A) Fall But the mortgage worked the hardest and the (E) steadiest of us all It (A)

I pray the king shows you his mercy For shame, for the Revolution Hear ye, hear ye my name is Samuel Seabury And I present free thoughts on the proceedings of the continental congress Heed not the rabble who scream revolution They have not your interests