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A rotted old house deep in the South
Was where I learned to shut my mouth
And keep my stockings high and my hems low
And take care of babies and learn to sew

And the very first thing I stitched together
Was made of cotton that had heathered
Was a pair of pants like my Papa wore
“For wearin’ ‘round the house!” my Mama swore

When I was ten I was grown enough
To wear layered dresses and shoulder puffs
To gussy up when I went out for a walk
And to court a man with dainty talk

I got old enough to leave the nest
And my Papa found one out in the west
A farmer’s boy with corn agrow
And I didn’t care enough to say no

Six babies to him I gives
Ain’t none of which who lives
I didn’t much care for them anyways
But now he works much longer days

But when he’d come home and go to bed
I’d creep around the dark farmstead
And saddle up his horse to ride
I felt like such a man astride

He done worked himself to death
On that horse he drew his last breath
The preacher offered three hundred
And my horse and I were sundered

Now as I sit, old and gray
I think about the final day
And maybe the Lord will let me be
Out of these bones and finally free.

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