Five o'clock Monday morning,
pushing the plow in the fields,
marking brand new blisters,
even for the old ones healed.
Sweat's pouring down and blinding me.
I'm plumb tired down past my knees,
but come Sunday we're gonna go see
Uncle Booger, Red and Birdie now.
Uncle Booger, Red and Birdie now.
Cause they got finger licking chicken dinner pallets on the floor,
all the young'uns giggling
till it makes your back sore.
I'm in this room for one more,
and Uncle Booger,
Red and Birdie now.
Uncle Booger, Red and Birdie now.
This damn old farm's all worn out,
and it's either me or it.
Lighting done struck down the shade tree,
I ain't even got a place to sit.
I think about the young'uns that growin' so fast,
winter's setting in and the food won't
last.
Come Sunday we'll at least get fed at Booger,
Red and Birdie now.
Uncle Booger,
Red and Birdie now.
I swear this old farm won't get me down.
I'm gonna work like a dog
till it's peace of mind I found.
So push the plow, kick the fuel in the backside,
snap that
rawhide one more row of pay between heaven and hell.
Gonna see Booger, Red and Birdie now.
Thank God this week is over,
Sunday's draw near.
The lard can's down near empty,
ain't
no food around here.
So pull the stocking caps down over the young'un's head,
put the
sideboards up on the old flat bed.
It's Sunday and we're gonna get fed at Booger,
Red and Birdie now.
Uncle Booger, Red and Birdie now.
Cuz they got finger-lickin' chicken dinner pallets on the floor,
all the young'un gigglin' till it makes your back sore.
Climb in this room for one more night.
Uncle Booger, Red and Birdie now.
Uncle Booger, Red and Birdie now.
Cuz they got finger-lickin'
chicken dinner pallets on the floor,
all the young'un gigglin' till it makes your back sore.
Climb in this room for one more night.
Uncle Booger, Red and Birdie now.
Uncle Booger, Red and Birdie now.
Uncle Booger, Red and Birdie now.