Tekstovi: William Elliott Whitmore. Red Buds.

The wind blows hard up in whipoorwill hill
and the red buds sway in the breeze
If you listen real close you can hear
the desperate cry of a broken man on his knees

The rain beats hard on a poor man's head
The wind pulls the nails out of the tin roof of the shed
and the water keeps on rising
at the old homestead

If the corn's knee high by the fourth of July
and mother nature smiles on us all,
and there's a ring around the moon
that means rain is coming soon
and we'll have a good harvest this fall

The rain beats hard on a poor man's head
The wind pulls the nails out of the tin roof of the shed
The moon keeps on shining
on the old homestead

The wind blows through the wheatfield at night
and it plays a lonely tune
The bones clatter in the trees, waving in the summer breeze
and there ain't nothing like Lee County in June

The rain beats hard on a poor man's head
The wind pulls the nails out of the tin roof of the shed
The river keeps on flowing by
the old homestead