About three miles from the Bat-Hill Yard, on the reverse curve on down,Not far south of the town depot, Sullivan Shack was found,Back on the higher ground.You could see him every day, walking down the line,With his old bronze sack across his back, And his long hair down the heart,Speaking his word in mind.It's a long way to the Delta, from the north Georgia hills,And a tow sack full of ginseng, won't pay no traveling bill.But I'm too old to ride the rails or climb the road alone,Well, I guess I'll never make it back to home,My muddy water Mississippi Delta home.Well, the winters here, they get too cold, The damp, it makes me ill.You can't dig no roots in the mountainside, Where the ground froze hard and still,You gotta stay at the foot of the hill.But next summer things turn right, the companies will pay high,I'll make enough money to pay my bills, And bid these mountains goodbye,Then we'll set it aside.It's a long way to the Delta, from the north Georgia hills,And a tow sack full of ginseng, won't pay no traveling bill.But I'm too old to ride the rails or climb the road alone,Well, I guess I'll never make it back to home,My muddy water Mississippi Delta home.It's a long way to the Delta, from the north Georgia hills,And a tow sack full of ginseng, won't pay no traveling bill.And I'm too old to ride the rails or climb the road alone,Well, I guess I'll never make it back to home,My muddy water Mississippi Delta home.