"Missouri Land" गीत

We're in a land of drought and heat
Where nothing grows for man to eat;
The wind it blows, this intense heat
Burns everything that man can eat.

CHORUS:
0, .Missouri land, sweet Missouri land,
As on this burning soil I stand
I look away across the plains
And wonder why it never rains,
Till I heard the angel's trumpet sound
That all the rain has passed around.

We started in to raise our flock,
Our chickens were the Plymouth Rock,
Our cattle were the Jersey fine,
And Poland China were our swine.

We have no wheat, we have no oats,
We have no corn to feed our shoats;
Our chickens are too poor to eat
And the pigs go squealing through the street.

Our horses are the Broncho race,
Starvation stares us in the face,
We do not live, we only stay,
We are too poor to move away.

The farmer goes into his corn
And there he stands and looks forlorn,
He kicks the clods with his old boots
And says, "This corn will turn to shoots."