The Frozen Four-Hundred-Pound Fair-to-Middlin’ Cotton Picker

[Verse]
I left the field one evening my fingers so cold and sore
From fair to middling cotton 300 pounds or more
Jim McCann was still picking straddle in the row
The sun began to sinking and the wind began to blow
He was bound to get 400 a dragging a twelve foot sack
I hollered out Jim come weight it but I only saw his back
So I went on home to supper and I gathered around my kin
I was thinking of Jim out there picking with winter setting in
Next morning the air was freezing the snow was nine feet deep
I jerked on my long red handles and I left my kids asleep
I got myself a shovel and went to where I seen Jim go
And commenced to a digging for him at the other end of his row
I found his body frozen and I took him in to thaw
I dragged in his sack and I weighed it and I added Jim's marks that I saw
The total was over 400 so he'd picked more than he'd bet
Of fair to middling cotton but Jim hasn't thawed out yet