Baby, I know that we've got trouble in the fields
When the bankers swarm like locust out there turning away our yield
The trains roll by our silos, silver in the rain
They leave our pockets full of nothing
But our dreams and the golden grain

Have you seen the folks in line downtown at the station
They're all buying their ticket out and talking the great depression
Our parents had their hard times fifty years ago
When they stood out in these empty fields in dust as deep as snow

And all this trouble in our fields
If this rain can fall, these wounds can heal
They'll never take our native soil
But if we sell that new John Deere
And we'll work these crops with sweat and tears
You'll be the mule, I'll be the plow
Come harvest time we'll work it out
There's still a lotta love, here in these troubled fields

There's a book up on the shelf about the dust bowl days
And there's a little bit of you and a little bit of me in the photos on every page
Now our children live in the city and they rest upon our shoulders
They never want the rain to fall or the weather to get colder

And all this trouble in our fields
If this rain can fall, these wounds can heal
They'll never take our native soil
But if we sell that new John Deere
And we'll work these crops with sweat and tears
You'll be the mule, I'll be the plow
Come harvest time we'll work it out
There's still a lotta love, here in these troubled fields

You'll be the mule, I'll be the plow
Come harvest time we'll work it out
There's still a lotta love, here in these troubled fields