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Here in Harlan County, the choices are few |
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To keep food on the table and the babies in shoes |
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You can grow marijuana way back in the pines |
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Or work for the man down in the mine |
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You never forget your first day in the hole |
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There's a pit in your stomach and your mouth's full of coal |
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There's no turning back once you make up your mind |
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As the cart rattles on down in the mine |
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. |
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Way down in the mine, your tears turn to mud |
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And you can't catch your breath for the dust in your lungs |
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Loading hillbilly gold where the sun never shines |
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Twelve hours a day, diggin' your grave |
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Way down in the mine |
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. |
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Well the old timers talk but you just don't believe |
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It can all go to hell at two thousand feet |
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Life sways in the balance of nature and time |
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And fate has no mercy down in the mine |
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. |
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The news spreads like fire and burned through those hills |
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Hopes were held high but five men got killed |
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On the wings of canaries, your soul surely flies |
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While your bones spend eternity down in the mine |
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. |
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Way down in the mine, your tears turn to mud |
| [03:52.40] |
And you can't catch your breath for the dust in your lungs |
| [04:04.87] |
Loading hillbilly gold where the sun never shines |
| [04:17.24] |
Twelve hours a day, diggin' your grave |
| [04:23.50] |
Way down in the mine |
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. |
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So take a flask from your crib case and a pull of moonshine |
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And say a prayer for them boys down in the mine |
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