Wettin' it down, boss
Wet it down
Wipin' it off, boss
Wipe it off.
Doin' ten to twenty hard
Swingin' twelve pounds in the yard
Every day
Every day.
I came in with a group of twenty
There ain't left but half as many
In the clay
In the clay.
Long line rider, turn away.

There's a farm in Arkansas
Got some secrets in its floor
In decay
In decay.
You can tell where they're at
Nothin' grows, the ground is flat
Where they lay
Where they lay.
Long line rider, turn away.

All the records show so clear
Not a single man was here
Anyway
Anyway.
That's the tale the warden tells
As he counts his empty shells
By the day
By the day.
Hey, long line rider, turn away.

Somone screams investigate
'scuse me sir it's a little late
Let us pray
Let us pray.
This kinda thing can't happen here
'specially not in an election year
Outta my way
Outta my way.
Hey, long line rider, turn away.

There's a funny taste in the air
Big bulldozers everywhere
Diggin' clay
Turnin' clay.
And the ground coughs up some roots
Wearin' denim shirts and boots
Haul 'em away
Haul 'em away.
Hey, long line rider, turn away.

Well I heard a brother moan
Why they plowin' up my home
In this way
In this way.
I said, buddy, shake your gloom
They're just here to make more room
In the clay.
U.S.A.

Writer : BOBBY DARIN
Copyright : Lyrics © WINDSWEPT HOLDINGS LLC, CARLIN AMERICA INC