when i was a curly headed baby my daddy sat me down on his knee he said son go to school and get your letters don t you be a dusty coal miner boy like me i was born and raised at the mouth of hazard hollow the coal cars rolled and rumbled past my door but now they stand in a rusty row all empty because the l n don t stop here anymore i used to think my daddy was a black man with script enough to buy the company store but now he goes to town with empty pockets and his face is white as a february snow i never thought i d learn to love the coal dust i never thought i d pray to hear that whistle roar oh god i wish the grass would turn to money and those green backs would fill my pockets once more last night i dreamed i went down to the office to get my pay like a had done before but the old kudzu vines were covering the door and there were leaves and grass growing right up through the floor 