old white washed barn door, rain rusted tin
straw-packed shirt and blue jeans,hanging in the wind
there's never time for these bones to mend
up before the sun dries the frost on my fields
i've got this diesel burning,turning these four wheels
across this land i've been handed down
feel my roots run deep in this ground
chorus:
so stand me up, tall in this seat
and lord help me guide, this plow beneath my feet
and turn this earth over one more time...
some say this way of life is done
not for my father's son
three generations before i ever came
cut back these timbers and bet their lives on grain
and i wanna see just once, before i die
us doing more than just barely getting by...yea
chorus
now and then i walk my fence down by old county road
and i watch the cars go rushing by and disappear like ghosts
out where the sky meets the amber waves
well i'm a rock in this land god made