Those ole tomato rows look long,
When over dem's I's bent.
Ole Sol looks down with heated eye,
So's I wish I hadn't went.

It sho gits hot in dat field,
Ma bones begin to creak.
So's I's wish I's in ma rockin'chair,
A listnin' to it squeak.

But here I is a spendin'time,
Tryin' to make a dollar.
Trudgin' down dat tomato row,
While ma joint's put up a holler.

Now listen bones, and stop yo achen'
I's not an old man yet.
Someday yo  day of rest is comin'
But doe's tomatoes now need picked.

But even tho rows look long,
And Sol is hot as ever.
I's goin' on down dat tomato row,
It's pic'um now or never.

Copyright Clara Scarberry