|
My driftin' memory goes back to the spring of '42 when |
|
I was just a child in |
|
Momma's arms, |
|
My Daddy plowed the fields and prayed and did all he could do to save that broke-down |
|
Oklahoma farm, |
|
Then one night |
|
I heard my |
|
Daddy sayin' to my |
|
Momma, that he finally saved enough for us to go, |
|
California was his dream, a paradise that he had seen, the pictures and the magazines had told him so |
|
California cotton fields, where labor camps were filled with worried men and broken dreams, |
|
California cotton fields, was as close to wealth as |
|
Daddy ever came |
|
Almost everything we owned was sold or left behind, from |
|
Daddy's tools to the fruit that |
|
Momma canned, |
|
Some folks came to say farewell and see what all we had to sell, some just came to shake my |
|
Daddy's hand |
|
The model |
|
T was loaded down and |
|
California bound and the dream of hope was just four days away, |
|
But the only change that |
|
I remember seein' in my |
|
Daddy was when his brown hair turned to silver grey |
|
California cotton fields, where labor camps were filled with worried men and broken dreams, |
|
California cotton fields, was as close to wealth as |
|
Daddy ever came |
