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My history is no secret it's written in the stones |
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In the hill beside this river rest my mother's gentle bones |
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And daddy there beside her among his next of kin |
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And their legacy passed down to me the sons of mountain men |
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Raised to be a miner by a miners callused hands |
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Passed my youth between these mountains where I grew to understand |
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That family was the word of God and faith was it's demand |
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And life and death the same came from the coal beneath this land |
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Well, a rich man writes the book of laws a poor man must defend |
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But the highest laws are written on the hearts of honest men |
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If that cup is passed to me to do what must be done |
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When they lay me down remind them I was just my father's son |
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I've walked among these people, heard the stories that they tell |
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I've crawled beside them in the mines and touched the walls of hell |
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I've shared their sacred secrets, known their triumph and their pain |
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And right or wrong I'll stand with them on the final judgment day |
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They say God gives his comfort when the time of trouble comes |
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They say we'll know no share of peace till we lay down our guns |
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But will my boy have the chance to do the things I've never done |
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Or will he, like me, be told that he must be his father's son? |
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Well, a rich man writes the book of laws a poor man must defend |
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But the highest laws are written on the hearts of honest men |
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When that cup is passed to me to do what must be done |
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On a chunk of coal just carve these words, |
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I was just my father's son |
