40 Acres of Hell

I was born in north Mississippi
On 40 rocky acres of ground
We froze in the winter
Burnt up in summer
And starved the whole year 'round
Every year we planted, but we couldn't raise nothin'
But some rotten cotton we couldn't sell
It got to be that Papa called our little place
40 rocky acres of Hell

We were doing our time
On 40 acres of hell

Now Papa he worked, Lord knows he worked
We just never seemed to get ahead
Supper many nights was nothing
But some warmed over beans and cornbread
Five hungry people, and three little rooms
And life getting rougher every day
It seemed the price of one year's good living
Was a dollar more than Papa could pay

We were doing our time
On 40 Acres of hell

I remember that day
On my fourteenth year
I'd just gotten home from school
My little sister Betsy, she was five years old
Came riding to the house on a mule
She cried: "Mama y'all better come quick
Papa done fell and he's hurt"
We buried Papa that Sunday
The very next Monday
Things went from bad to worse

We were doing our time
On 40 Acres of hell

Now my big brother Burt didn't take him very long
He got tired of plowing Devil ground
So he got him a gun and he robbed him a store
And the law had to hunt him down
They caught him up in Memphis
And Burt made them shoot
But I've heard a lot of people that say
"Your big brother Burt didn't do it for the money
He just had to get away"

From doing his time
On 40 acres of hell

Now, many years have passed
And Mama, she's gone
She's with Papa and Burt
My little sister Betsy married a salesman
And moved out west to Fort Worth
Here I sit on this 40 acres
Raising rotten cotton I can't sell
So good Lord when I die
You gotta take me to Heaven
I've done my time in Hell

I've been doing my time
On 40 Acres of Hell

I've been doing my time
On 40 Acres of Hell