The dirt was clay an' was the color of the blood in me
A twelve acre farm on a ridge in south Tennessee
We left our sweat all over that land
Behind a mule we watched grow old
Row after row
Trying to grow corn an' cotton on ground so poor that grass won't grow
There was one old store in the holler we all called town
It belonged to a gentle old man named Henry Brown
He gave us grits and in the winter time
So we could live through the cold
When the winds brought snow
Trying to grow corn an' cotton on ground so poor that grass won't grow
The one I loved walked through those fields with me
A hard workin' woman, true as one could be
But then one year, death was goin' round
And swiftly took it's toll
Janie had to go
Now she lies asleep under ground so poor that grass won't grow
As I stand here looking over this part of Tennessee
The fields are bare as far as the eye can see
And over the ground where Janie lies
There's a beautiful sight to behold
And no one knows
Why there's flowers growin' on ground so poor that grass won't grow...