|
Down at the mill, down at the mill, |
|
The mill broke down, it's broken still. |
|
I never did find you, and I guess I never will, |
|
Unless you meet me down at the mill. |
|
It's always August, sweat on your neck, |
|
You do the work but you never see a check. |
|
Fat Annie waiting for you - man, if looks could kill, |
|
You never would have woke this morning, down at the mill. |
|
Young guys on motorcycles, hard eyes, hardons, |
|
Go chasing through the woods to the muddy yellow pond. |
|
Their hands are filthy, their souls are dirty, |
|
They shoot the shit with a 30-30. |
|
Down at the mill, down at the mill, |
|
Grampa spit tobacco at a barrel full of swill. |
|
There's a sawdust mountain and a slabwood hill |
|
And Jim Beam on the jammer, down at the mill. |
|
Dammit now I told you, goddammit I said |
|
Get that little bastard Frank, smack him on the head. |
|
I'm on my way to Jesus but I'm moving slow, |
|
If you think that you can take me, c'mon, let's go. |
|
Grease of the engine, whine of the saw, |
|
The trouble with the customers, they're all in-laws, |
|
Don't even ask them about the way they feel, |
|
They're all broke down like the damn old mill. |
