Baby, I know that we've got trouble in the fields

When the bankers swarm like locusts 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 tickets out and they're 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 then 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 lot of 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 then 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 lot of 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 lot of love right here in these troubled fields