Bluegrass 7

I have worked my hand to the bone,
And the blood keeps spilling
Till somehow I become my own,
And owe that rich man no more

The plantation I anguish for,
Will never again be my dirt
I won’t break a sweat again for a false prophet called ownership
I just want to reap what I sow
And forget the concepts in between

I’m more than just the labor
And the boss mans working whore
I care for what I bleed for
The simple life is my cure.

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