Frank Proffitt
Frank Proffitt
Frank Proffitt
Frank Proffitt
Frank Proffitt
Frank Proffitt
Frank Proffitt
Frank Proffitt
Frank Proffitt
Frank Proffitt
Frank Proffitt
Frank Proffitt
Frank Proffitt
Frank Proffitt
Frank Proffitt
Frank Proffitt
I worked all the Winter-times
I worked through the Spring
I planted my corn and 'taters
[In] that puttin' rain
There's not a thing for a poor man
In this world
I stood on the hillside
I looked at the sky
Lord I said, "What makes you
Let it get so dry?"
There's not a thing for a poor man
In this world
I got out on my knees
For rain I thought I'd pray
Along come a great big flood
Washed everything away
There's not a thing for a poor man
In this world
Hush up honey
Now don't you cry
Things are gonna get better
By and by
There's not a thing for a poor man
In this world
Have mercy!
I worked all last Summer
I worked all that Fall
Lord I spent my Christmas
In a pair of overalls
There's not a thing for a poor man
In this world