Thar's More In The Man Than Thar Is In The Land


Written Text

I knowed a man, which he lived in Jones,

Which Jones is a county of red hills and stones,

And he lived pretty much by gittin’ of loans,

And his mules was nuthin’ but skin and bones,

And his hogs was flat as his corn-bread pones,

And he had ‘bout a thousand acres o’ land.

This man — which his name it was also Jones —

He swore that he’d leave them old red hills and stones,

Fur he couldn’t make nuthin’ but yallerish cotton,

And little o’ that, and his fences was rotten,

And what little corn he had, hit was boughten

And dinged ef a livin’ was in the land.

And the longer he swore the madder he got,

And he riz and he walked to the stable lot,

And he hollered to Tom to come thar and hitch

Fur to emigrate somewhar whar land was rich,

And to quit raisin’ cock-burrs, thistles and sich,

And a wastin’ ther time on the cussed land.

So him and Tom they hitched up the mules,

Pertestin’ that folks was mighty big fools

That ‘ud stay in Georgy ther lifetime out,

Jest scratchin’ a livin’ when all of ‘em mought

Git places in Texas whar cotton would sprout

By the time you could plant it in the land.

And he driv by a house whar a man named Brown

Was a livin’, not fur from the edge o’ town,

And he bantered Brown fur to buy his place,

And said that bein’ as money was skace,

And bein’ as sheriffs was hard to face,

Two dollars an acre would git the land.

They closed at a dollar and fifty cents,