I woke up this mornin’,
All wound-up, down in the deep,
Laid-back under the haystack half asleep,
When she pulled up
In her Cadillac, uh huh,
And pointed to the two pillows
In the back, uh huh.
But will she get to me?
We shall see.

Out behind the barn
We tore thru the broomcorn plots;
Then up in the loft,
She cut the tops of my bootstraps off;
But she fits the bill
All by herself, uh huh;
All nine-yards on
A five-foot shelf, uh huh.
But will she get to me?
We shall see.

When autumn has rolled
Past the summer’s fold,
If the line goes slack,
If the wheels won’t go,
‘Cause I’ve never cried,
Not when mother died,
Nor this mornin’
When you went away —— ——
Was it then?
Or was it yesterday?

I told her: “It’s not fair!
It despairs the spirit of man,
To give a slave to their fate
Just to pay them to slave on demand!”
Then she said to me
While she was fixin’ her hair, uh huh:
“Some loser’s always tryin’
To make the whole world fair,” uh huh.
But will she get to me?
We shall see.

When autumn has rolled
Past the summer’s fold,
If the line goes slack,
If the wheels won’t go,
‘Cause I’ve never cried,
Not when mother died,
Nor this mornin’
When you went away —— ——
Was it then?
Or was it yesterday?