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Well, down along the river just a-sittin' on a rock |
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I'm a-lookin' at the boats in the Bonneville lock. |
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Gate swings open, the boat sails in, |
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Toot that whistle, she's gone again. |
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Gasoline goin' up. Wheat comin' down. |
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Well, I filled up my hat brim, drunk a little taste, |
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Thought about a river just a-goin' to waste; |
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Thought about the dust, an' thought about the sand, |
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Thought about the people, an' thought about the land. |
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Folks runnin' round all over creation, |
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Lookin' for some kind of little place. |
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Well, I pulled out my pencil, scribbled this song, |
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Figured all them salmon just couldn't be wrong; |
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Them salmon fish is mighty shrewd, |
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They got senators and politicians, too. |
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Just about like the president. They run every four years. |
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You just watch this river, though, pretty soon |
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Everybody's gonna be changin' their tune; |
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The big Grand Coulee and the Bonneville dams |
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Run a thousand factories for Uncle Sam. |
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And everybody else in the world. Turnin' out |
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Everything from fertilizers to sewing machines, |
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And atomic bedrooms and plastic -- |
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Everything's gonna be plastic. |
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Uncle Sam need houses and stuff to eat, |
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Uncle Sam needs wool, and Uncle Sam needs wheat, |
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Uncle Sam needs water and power dams, |
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Uncle Sam needs people, and the people need land. |
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'Course I don't like dictators none myself, |
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But then I think the whole country had ought to be run by e-lec-trici-ty. |
