Hill Folk

Intro 
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Im wealthy in white oak, persimmon and poke 
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And we weather every season, some would call us hillfolk 
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From fort smith to flippen, all these rocks that I know 
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And I haunt every backroad, no one knows where I go 
 

 
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The burrs and the brambles tear your clothes at the seams 
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So we speak to our snakes and drink deep from our streams 
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Theres rain on some tin roof in Winslow I know 
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So hurry back from Missouri where the cold waters flow 
 

 
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Some morning in summer from these hills I might roam 
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Try to live for a wage, trade the traffic for home 
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But Ill always be feral, Ill never bear the yoke 
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Im a careworn, ridgerunning and whistling hillfolk 
 

 
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