How old was I when I
first seen old Rivers?
Well, I can't remember
when he weren't around.
That old fella, he did a heap of work.
He spent his whole life
walking plowed ground.
He had that one room shack,
not far from us,
well, we was about as poor as him.
And he had one old mule,
he called him Midnight,
and I'd trail along after them.
He'd plow them rows,
just straight and deep,
and I'd follow along behind.
I'd be busting up clods
with my own bare feet.
That old Rivers,
he was a friend of mine.
Now that sun would get high,
that old mule, he'd work.
Finally, old Rivers, he'd say, whoa.
He'd wipe his frown,
he'd lean back on them rains.
Then he'd talk about that
place he's gonna go.
One of these days,
I'm gonna climb that mountain.
Go walk up there among them clouds.
Well, that cotton's high
and that corn's a -growin'
And there ain't no fields to plow
I got a letter today,
it's from the folks back home
They all fine, crops is dry
Down near the end, Mom said,
With sun, you know what old rivers die in.
Well, I'm sitting here now,
in this new cloud earth,
just looking for a little shade.
With that sun beating
down across them fields,
I say, that mew old rivers and me.
Now one of these days,
I'm gonna climb that mountain.
I'm gonna walk up there
among them clouds.
Well, that cotton's high,
and that corn's growing,
an d there ain't no fields
to plow.
That mule, the old rivers, and me.