The Southeast Georgia red clay dust is ground into my blue jeansA heavy hundred pound cotton sack I'm dragging long behindWanting to leave this place so bad I forget how I got hereWorking my way back home One row at a timeIt's a long old cotton rowBetween the hills and the meadowsWorking here in WacoThen three days of thumbing To that California lineThen two more days of picking To that house just south of FresnoWorking my way back home One rowAt a timeMississippi Delta mud Is caked in layers on my brogansSunshine on snow white cotton Nearly makes me blindMusicMusicMusicMusicMusicNow I can almost see him now The home folk running out to meet meWorking my way back home One row at a timeIt's a long old cotton row Between here and WacoThen three days of thumbing To that California lineCalifornia line, Lord, LordTwo more days of pickingTo that house just south of FresnoWorking my way back homeOne road at a timeWorking my way back homeOne road at a time