Tekstovi: Bobby Darin. Long Line Rider.

Wettin' it down, boss
Wet it down
Wipin' it off, boss
Wipe it off

Doin' ten to twenty hard
Swingin' twelve pounds in the yard
Every day
Every day

I came in with a group of twenty
There ain't left but half as many
In the clay
In the clay

Long line rider, turn away

There's a farm in Arkansas
Got some secrets in its floor
In decay
In decay

You can tell where they're at
Nothin' grows, the ground is flat
Where they lay
Where they lay

Long line rider, turn away

All the records show so clear
Not a single man was here
Anyway
Anyway

That's the tale the warden tells
As he counts his empty shells
By the day
By the day

Hey, long line rider, turn away

Someone screams investigate
Excuse me sir, it's a little late
Let us pray
Let us pray

This kinda thing can't happen here
'Specially not in an election year
Outta my way
Outta my way

Hey, long line rider, turn away

There's a funny taste in the air
Big bulldozers everywhere
Diggin' clay
Turnin' clay

And the ground coughs up some roots
Wearin' denim shirts and boots
Haul 'em away
Haul 'em away

Hey, long line rider, turn away

Well, I heard a brother moan
"Why they plowin' up my home?"
In this way
In this way

I said, "Buddy, shake your gloom
They're just here to make more room
In the clay"
U.S.A.