I know at some brown
brink a sun's up
rising
but
Lord
some of these days--
It's not just my blues
on my back
Lord
you know it's
generations
have trod have trod have trod
when will we reckon
the weight
of generations
Lord you know
I got my own blues in my pocket too
and all that on my back
it ull press a man down
till he leaks oil like a seed
crushed
this boot on my back
can't press me deep down
enough to that
dear freshness sprining--
it's too deep
beneath this dirt in my mouth
got this knee in my neck why
do men not reck God it's not just
my blood in this dirt in my mouth
that can't cry
God do you hear
these rocks
it's not just
