Take your harvest from the soil That is blacker than the color of the coal But you're never going keep anything you try to reap If you pull it from the dusty Georgia bowl All the blossoms from the Magnolia Have shriveled up and fallen to the ground And I know I should have told you That the rust was going tear your engine down When the stone's above your head And you're driving in the nails When you're gone what kind of song are they going sing? When the clay falls upon the pine All that remains is what you leave behind When you're lying with that stone above your head Sit and listen, tune them in Hear the trials and the hardships of my kin Taken by the tones of the Cactus and the Rose And the rhymes that Gary Stewart used to spin All the easy people running to me You can see their chickens running through the yard Put them on the table every Sunday Then they bow their heads and give thanks to the Lord