Текст песни Field Song (William Elliot Whitmore) с переводом

Write this down, and don’t forget

That the best of times ain’t happened yet

The gilded age has long been done

And so many lost when the west was won

Let’s go to the field were gonna do some work

Spend our day digging in the dirt

We’ll hope for rain to follow the plow

And this piece of ground is a homestead now

This little piece of ground is a homestead now

Three square meals and a living wage

Reminds me of the good ol' days

Before the manifest destiny of the factory farms

When those cut throats came and burned down the barn

Underneath the black locust tree

There’s a shady place that waits for me

To rest my bones and to rest my mind

I’m gonna rest right here when I die

Write this down and don’t forget

That the best of times ain’t happened yet

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