IT WAS SEVEN IN THE MORNING AND ALREADY IT WAS EIGHTY-FIVE DEGREES MAMA SAID SHE BET THAT IT WOULD REACH A HUNDRED CAUSE THERE WASN'T ANY BREEZE PAPA HAD A COTTON SACK HEADED FOR A FIELD WE DID NOT OWN LITTLE BROTHER WAS CRYING CAUSE PAPA SAID WE HAD TO COME ALONG OLD SHEP CAME OFF THE FRONT PORCH HIS BRISTLES RAISED AND READY FOR A FIGHT MAMA TOLD SOME BILL COLLECTOR BETTER STAY OUTSIDE THE GATE THAT DOG'LL BITE I REMEMBER US ALL LAUGHING AS HE DROVE AWAY OLD SHEP JUST LAYED BACK DOWN IT WAS A DUSTY JULY MORNING IN A MISSISSIPPI DELTA COTTON TOWN DUSTY DELTA MEMORIES COTTON FIELDS BLOWING ON MY MIND DUSTY DELTA MEMORIES THEM BRING ON TEARDROPS TAKE ME BACK HOME KIND NOW I PICK THOSE DAYS LIKE ROSES EVERYTIME A JULY MORNING COMES ALONG AND MY MEMEORY TAKES A SHORTCUT RIGHT BACK DOWN THAT GRAVEL ROAD I WALKED UPON WHEN I'M FALLING SHORT OF HAPPINESS I ALWAYS TURN THE TABLES OF MY MIND TO THE CORNER OF A COTTON FIELD AND A WEATHER BEATEN SHACK OF ROUGH CUT PINE