When the cotton takes its toll
on the carolina soil
and your soul longs to go
sing on yankee radio
follow the sound down the red clay road
your daddy's gone
the bottles broke
your mother sews to keep her home
your brothers croon
but they will too
die a bottle death
just as soon
you'll bury them deep
in red clay grave
the wash is boiling
in the ring
and you hear a lady sing
lillie rae
sweetly sways
while the old victrola plays
follow the sound
down red clay road

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