Ten long years
Ten more to go
One rotten jail
Go on, let me go, son.
Save your prayers
Cry no more
It ain’t going to help none.
Could be the way it was.
Could be the way it was.
Could be the way it all was sown.
Could be a hard row to hoe.
You’re hitting land with hardened hoe.
But all you plant don’t want to grow none.
Beyond the pale, driven dust
There ain’t no wonder.
It’s hard to tell which way it goes.
Doing well, then way down the road, son.
You’re taking [bad word] and giving blood
To all that want some.
Could be a hard row to hoe.
Where it ends we never know.
How or when or way down the road, son.
What kind of men will we [bad word] 
I’m trying to tell you.
Don’t let them break me, lord.
Don’t let them break me, lord.
Could be the way it all was sown.
Could be a hard row to hoe.