[Verse 1]

‘Leven cotton 

and forty cent

 meat
              
How in the wor

              
ld can a poor 

    
man eat?

Flour up high 

and cotton dow

n low
              
How in the wor

            
ld can we rais

      
e the dough?
             
Our clothes wo

        
rn out, shoes 

run down
            
Old slouch hat

        
 with a hole i

n the crown

Back nearly br

oken and finge

rs all wore,
              
Cotton goin’ d

            
own to rise no

 
 more.

[Verse 2]

‘Leven cotton,

 ten dollar pa

nts
              
Who in the Dev

             
il has got a c


hance?
   
We can't buy c

lothes; we can

't buy meat;
              
Got too much c

            
otton, not eno

       
ugh to eat.
             
Can't help eac

              
h other; what 


shall we do?
            
I can't solve 

              
the problem so

            
 it's up to yo

u.

 ‘Leven cotton

, two dollar h

ose
              
Guess we will 

              
have to go wit

       
hout any cloth

es.

[Verse 3]

'Leven cent co

tton, a carloa

d of tax,
              
The load's too

              
 heavy for our

      
 poor backs.
   
We got a set o

f farmers, we 

all know well,
              
But there's so

              
methin' wrong 

         
as sure as hel

l.
             
We all work ha

       
rd; we groan a

nd sweat.
            
We're plumb ru

          
ined and abloa

t upset.

No use talkin'

, any man's be

at,
              
With 'leven ce

              
nt cotton and 

         
forty cent mea

t.

[Verse 4]

'Leven cent co

tton, forty ce

nt meat,
              
Keep gettin' t

              
hinner, 'cause

          
 we don't eat.

Tried to raise

 peas; tried t

o raise beans.
              
All we can rai

           
se is turnip g

reens.
             
Folk’s always 

      
sick; paw must

 cough,
            
Ain’t had no s

           
ugar since Ma 

dropped off.

No use talkin'

, any man's be

at,
              
With 'leven ce

              
nt cotton and 

         
forty cent mea

t.

[Verse 5]

'Leven cent co

tton, forty ce

nt meat,
              
Feels like a c

              
hain is on our

 
 feet.

Poor gettin' p

oorer all arou

nd here,
              
Kids coming re

          
gular ev'ry ye

ar.
             
Planted corn; 


was a wheat ye

ar.
            
Planted wheat 

       
and it turned 

a corn year.

No use talkin,

 any man's bea

t,
              
With 'leven ce

              
nt cotton and 

         
forty cent mea

t.

[Verse 6]

'Leven cent co

tton, forty ce

nt meat,
              
How in the wor

              
ld can a poor 

    
man eat?

Mule's in the 

barn, the crop

's laid by:
              
The crib’s plu

              
mb empty and t

            
he cow's gone 


dry.
             
Well water's l

    
ow, nearly out

 of sight,
            
Can't take a b

         
ath on a Satur

day night.

No use talkin'

, any man's be

at,
              
With 'leven ce

              
nt cotton and 

         
forty cent mea

t.

Part 2

[Verse 7]

Funny how pric

es make such a

 range.
              
The poor old f

              
armer is alway

        
s short change

d

Forty cent mea

t, ‘leven cent

 cotton
              
Makes a fellow

              
 mad when he’s

          
 treated so ro

tten.
             
We fatten up o

         
ur hogs, take 

’em into town.
            
All we get is 


six cents a po

und.

Very next day 

we have to buy

 it back
              
At forty cents

              
 a pound in a 

    
paper sack.

[Verse 8]

 ‘Leven cent c

otton, forty c

ent meat,
              
Sun always sco

              
rching up all 

    
our wheat.

Hogs got the c

olic, cattle m

outh disease,
              
Boll weevils o

            
nly eatin’ all

      
 they please.
             
Even the help 


is so lazy,
            
No wonder that

 
 we’re all cra

zy.

No use talkin'

, any man's be

at,
              
With 'leven ce

              
nt cotton and 

         
forty cent mea

t.

[Verse 9]

'Leven cent co

tton, forty ce

nt meat,
              
How in the wor

              
ld can a poor 

    
man eat?

Pray for the s

unshine, ‘cour

se it will rai

n.
              
Things gettin'

              
 worse drivin'

     
 all insane;
             
Built a nice b

     
arn; painted i

t brown.
            
Lightnin' come

           
 along and bur

nt it down.

No use talkin'

, any man's be

at,
              
With 'leven ce

              
nt cotton and 

         
forty cent mea

t.

[Verse 10]

'Leven cent co

tton, forty ce

nt meat,
              
Can’t find the

              
 shoes to put 

       
on our feet.

Boll weevils h

ere, boll weev

ils there,
              
Eats up our co

            
tton and just 

      
don’t care.
             
Then high wate

  
r us awakes,
            
What the boll 

              
weevil leaves 

              
the high water

 
 takes.

No use talkin'

, any man's be

at,
              
With 'leven ce

              
nt cotton and 

         
forty cent mea

t.

[Verse 11]

'Leven cent co

tton, forty ce

nt meat,
              
How in the wor

              
ld can we stan

      
d the heat?

Summertime bur

n, wintertime 

freeze,
              
Clothes worn o

             
ut and we’re r

            
agged at the k

nees.
           
Hired hand, si

ts and sleeps
            
While the hogs

           
 run loose rou

tin’ up the wh

eat.

No use talkin'

, any man's be

at,
              
With 'leven ce

              
nt cotton and 

         
forty cent mea

t.

[Verse 12]
    
No corn in the

 crib, no chic

ks in the yard

,
              
No meat in the

              
 smoke house, 

              
no tubs full o

  
f lard.
   
No cream in th

e pitcher, no 

honey in the m

ug,
              
No butter on t

              
he table and n

            
o 'lasses in t

   
he jug.
             
Things to eat 

             
are always hig

            
h, ev'ry one i

            
s selling - no

 one will buy.

We can’t quit 

kickin', the f

ault's not our

 own,
              
We just can't 

            
reap where we 

     
have sown.