Bill Brown made a million - Bill Brown! Think of that! A boy, you remember, as poor as a rat; He hoed for the neighbors, did jobs by the day, But Bill made a million, or near it, they say. You can't understand it? Well, neither could I, And then I remembered, and now I know why: The bell might be ringing, the dinner horn blow; But Bill always hoed to the end of the row.
Bill worked for my father, you maybe recall; He wasn't a wonder - not that, not at all; He couldn't out-hoe me, or cover more ground, Or hoe any cleaner, or beat me around. In fact, I was better in one way that I know: One toot from the kitchen and home I would go; But Bill always hoed to the end of the row.
We used to get hungry out there in the corn. When you talk about music, what equals a horn? A horn yellin' dinner, tomatoes and beans, And pork and potatoes and gravy and greens? I ain't blamin' no one for quittin' on time, To stop with the whistle, that ain't a crime. But as for the million - well, this much I know: That Bill always hoed to the end of the row.
1 comments:
Great pictures!
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