First time he saw the ground getting busted,
hew as ten and it was 1952.
His daddy worked hard from sunup to sundown,
and they don´t got tough behind them ol´ grey mules

The farm grew to be a moneymaker,
and the house he lived in grew up room by room.
The boy worked hard but soon got tired of farming,
so he slipped away one night ´neath the harvest moon

His neck was red as Alabama clay,
but the cities called pulled him away.
He´s got a fact´ry job and runs a big machine.
He don´t miss the farm, or the fields of green.

Now, the city´s just a prison without fences,
his job is just a routine he can´t stand.
And at night he dreams of white open spaces,
fresh dirt between his those and on his hands.
Then one day a picture came inside a letter,
of a young girl with a baby on her arms.
And the words she wrote would change his live forever,
so he went to raise his familiy on the farm.

His neck is red as alabama clay,
now he´s going home this time to stay,
where the roots run deep, on a family tree, and the tractor rolls through the fields of green.

His neck is red as alabama clay,
now he´s going home this time to stay,
where the roots run deep, on a family tree, and the tractor rolls through the fields of green.

His neck is red, as Alabama clay