Dry Spell Blues - Elias "Mad Dog" Pruitt | DELTA BLUES

Dry Spell Blues - Elias "Mad Dog" Pruitt Sun come up like a hammer and it beat the field to bone, Ain't a drop in heaven's bucket and the well done turned to stone. I planted in the springtime with a prayer in every row, But the Lord forgot the rainfall and the boll weevil don't go. Dry, Lord, dry — (hey!) — and the cotton hangin' low, Cracked-mouth ground and a copper sky, ain't no place left to go. Hoe in my hand, dust in my throat, reapin' what I'll never own — So dry, Lord, dry — (hey!) — won't you send a little down 'fore I'm gone. There's a gal back in Clarksdale wore her good dress thin and grey, Said she'd wait until the harvest — Lord, the harvest blew away. I can't carry her no ring and I can't carry her no bread, Just a back bent in the noonday and the dust-words that I said. Dry, Lord, dry — (hey!) — and the cotton hangin' low, Cracked-mouth ground and a copper sky, ain't no place left to go. Hoe in my hand, dust in my throat, reapin' what I'll never own — So dry, Lord, dry — (hey!) — won't you send a little down 'fore I'm gone. Went down to the company store with my ledger and my shame, Boss man laughed and turned the page and wrote me deeper in his name. Won't be no payin' off this debt, won't be no breakin' free, Just a furrow and a fever and a grave they'll dig for me. Ohhh — past the dyin' cotton, past the buzzard and the wire, Tell my mama I was honest, tell her I crawled through the fire — Lord, this dry ground keep my secret when I'm too wore-out to cry. Come the mornin' I'll be walkin' to the depot down the line, Northbound rattler comin' and that ticket gonna be mine. Let the boss man keep his ledger, let him keep his sun-baked sod, 'Cause a poor man's only freedom is the road and a far-off God. Dry, Lord, dry — (hey!) — and the cotton hangin' low, Cracked-mouth ground and a copper sky, ain't no place left to go. Hoe in my hand, dust in my throat, reapin' what I'll never own — So dry, Lord, dry — (hey!) — won't you send a little down 'fore I'm gone. Ohhh — I ain't askin' for the city, I ain't askin' to be grand, Just a wage that's mine to pocket and a piece of livin' land — But the dust keep right on blowin' and it blow my name away.