The dirt was clay and the color of the blood in me A twelve-acre farm on a ridge in south Tennessee We left our sweat all over that land Behind a mule we watched grow old Row after row Trying to grow corn and cotton on ground so poor That grass won't grow There was one old store in the holler that we called town It belonged to a gentle old man named Henry Brown And he gave us grit in the wintertime So we could go through the cold When the winds brought snow Trying to grow corn and cotton on ground so poor That grass won't grow The one I loved walked through those fields with me A hard-working woman, true as one could ever be But then one year, death was going around And swiftly took its toll And Janie had to go Now she lies asleep under the ground so poor That grass won't grow As I stand here looking over this part of Tennessee The fields were bare as far as the eye could see And over the grave where Janie lies There's a beautiful sight to behold No one knows Why there's flowers growin' on ground so poor That grass won't grow Why there's flowers growin' on ground so poor That grass won't grow