Porter Wagoner Brewster's Farm
Who's gonna hoe the cotton, who's gonna cut the cane
When the creek goes dry next summer, who's gonna pray for rain
Who'll fear the cold wind comin' then weather out the storm
When the auctioneer cries, how much will you give for Brewster's farm
Who'll wake to the crowing of that old Rhode island red
That sits out on the gatepost to get Brewster out of bed
Who'll sing the songs of David in church on Sunday morn
Whose name will grace the mailbox that now reads Brewster's farm
In Washington they stand and say the farmers need a hand
But the ones that's selling Brewster's farm all work for uncle Sam
Smooth talking politicians that wine and dine and charm
Then turn their back and walk away from the sale of Brewster's farm
Now we can't fault his failure 'cause he worked and never stopped it
Just cost him more to plant his seed than he got for his crop
And the profits he had counted on all went to countries foreign
It was a shady deal but it wasn't made in the shade of Brewster's farm
So tell me, who's gonna hoe the cotton, who's gonna cut the cane
When the creek goes dry next summer, who's gonna pray for rain
Who'll fear the cold wind comin' then weather out the storm
When the auctioneer cries, how much will you give for Brewster's farm