When the cotton takes it's 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 bottle 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 a 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 the red clay road

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