Oh, my family grew cotton, and cotton was all we knew.
Butter came from Butterbean, and it all went in the stew.
We lived off our victory garden, and the neighbors did so too.
Some years the dust was so ruthless, so cotton's all we grew.
When there's no more cane on the brasses, and the oil is gone in the gulf.
When the wells are dry.
On the flatlands, cotton's all we got, cotton's all we got.
In the days before the power lines, when L.B.J. taught school.
He dreamed of a fairer nation, and promised to change the rules.
To build a great society, and all the folks in the same room.
Fighting a war on poverty, and taking us to the moon.
When there's no more cane on the brasses, and the oil is gone in the gulf.
When the wells run dry.
On the flatlands.
Cotton's all we got, cotton's all we got.
Oh, cotton's all we got.
When the wind will feed the power lines.
Where once it was dust that blew
All along the Chisholm Trail
Where cotton's all we know
When there's no more cane on the brasses
And the oil is gone in the gold
When the wells are dry on the flatlands
Cotton's all we got
Cotton's all we got
Cotton's all we got
Cotton's all we got