(Larry Cordle/R. Scaife)



First time he saw the ground get busted

He was ten and it was 1952

His daddy worked hard from sunup to sundown

And the goin' got tough behindthem ol' grey mules



The farm grew to be a moneymaker

And the house he lived in grew up room by room

The boy worked hard but soon got tired of farmin'

So he slipped away one night 'neath the harvest moon



His neck was red as Alabama clay

But the city's call pulled him away

He's got a factory job and runs a big machine

He don't miss the farm or the fields of green



Now the city's just a prison without fences

His job is just a routine he can't stand

And at night he dreams of wide-open spaces

Fresh dirt between his toes and on his hands



Then one day a picture came inside a letter

Of a young girl with a baby in her arms

And the words she wrote would change his life forever

So he went to raise his family on the farm



His neck is red as Alabama clay

Now he's goin' home this time to stay

Where the roots run deep on the family tree

And the tractor rolls through the fields of green



His neck is red as Alabama clay

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