Greg Brown Down At The Mill
Down at the mill, down at the mill
The mill broke down, it's broken still
I never did find you, and I guess I never will
Unless you meet me down at the mill
It's always August, sweat on your neck
You do the work but you never see a check
Fat Annie waiting for you - man, if looks could kill
You never would have woke this morning, down at the mill
Young guys on motorcycles, hard eyes, hardons
Go chasing through the woods to the muddy yellow pond
Their hands are filthy, their souls are dirty
They shoot the shit with a 30-30
Down at the mill, down at the mill
Grampa spit tobacco at a barrel full of swill
There's a sawdust mountain and a slabwood hill
And Jim Beam on the jammer, down at the mill
Dammit now I told you, goddammit I said
Get that little bastard Frank, smack him on the head
I'm on my way to Jesus but I'm moving slow
If you think that you can take me, c'mon, let's go
Grease of the engine, whine of the saw
The trouble with the customers, they're all in-laws
Don't even ask them about the way they feel
They're all broke down like the damn old mill
