The dirt was clay and 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 and cotton on ground so poor
That grass won't grow

There was one old store in the holler that we called town
It belonged to a gentle old man named Henry Brown
And he gave us grits in the wintertime
So we could go through the cold
When the winds brought snow

Trying to grow corn and cotton on ground so poor
That grass won't grow

The one I loved walked through those fields with me
A hard-working woman, true as one could be
But then one year, death was going round
And swiftly took its toll
Janie had to go

Now she lies asleep under the ground so poor
That grass won't grow
As I stand here looking over this part of Tennessee
The fields were bare as far as the eye could see
And over the ground where Janie lies
There's a beautiful sight to behold
No one knows

Why there's flowers growin' on ground so poor
That grass won't grow
Why there's flowers growin' on ground so poor
That grass won't grow