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In the deep, dark hills of eastern Kentucky |
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That's the place where I trace my bloodline |
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And it's there I read on a hillside gravestone |
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"You will never leave Harlan alive" |
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Well my grandad's dad walked down Katahrin's Mountain |
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And he asked Tillie Helton to be his bride |
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He said, "Won't you walk with me out of the mouth of this holler |
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Or we'll never leave Harlan alive" |
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Where the sun comes up about ten in the morning |
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And the sun goes down about three in the day |
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And you fill your cup with whatever bitter brew your drinking |
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And you spend your life just thinking how to get away |
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No one ever knew there was coal in them mountains |
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Til a man from the northeast arrived |
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Waving hundred dollar bills, he said "I'll pay you for your minerals" |
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But he never left Harlan alive |
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Well Granny, she sold out cheap and they moved out west to Pineville |
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To a farm where Big Richland River winds |
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And I'll bet they danced them a jig, and they laughed and sang a new song |
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"Who said we'd never leave Harlan alive?" |
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But the times, they got hard and tobacco wasn't selling |
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And old Granddad knew what he'd do to survive |
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He went and dug for Harlan coal and sent the money back to Granny |
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But he never left Harlan alive |
