But there on that hillside, there's an old miner's grave
And the brars and bushes about cover it up these days
And there's no one to claim it or care if he's gone away
For he was only a miner and it's only an old miner's grave
So pay no attention, it's only an old miner's grave
Pay no attention to the brars and the weeds, let them stay
Cause who's gonna miss him and care that he's gone away
For he was only a miner and it's only an old miner's grave
. . .
Francis E. Stebb from Holly Grove, W.V.A.
In 1913, loaded coal ten hours a day
Six days a week, forty-seven and a half cents a ton
He was shot down by gun thugs at the young age of thirty-one
So the brars and brambles ramble all over his grave
Like the farns in his life, for living he had to pay
Now there's no one to miss him and care that he's gone away
For he was only a miner and it's only an old miner's grave
. . .
So is this little Parker his only memorial today
A man who gave his life for the U.M.W.A.
Is this how we remember all the sacrifices he made
To let the brars and the weeds take over his union and grave