sundown
Sis Cunningham Lyrics

Down in the cotton row, pickin in the sun
I am laboring in the cotton field, exposed to the sun's rays.

Whishin to the Lord that the day was done
I pray that the day ends soon to relieve me from toiling.

Sack gettin heavy, Sun gettin hot
My burden is increasing as the heat intensifies.

I'm whishin for a little what the boss has got
I desire some of the luxuries that the boss enjoys.

A dipper a-water, fresh from the well
I yearn for cold water from the well to quench my thirst.

A patch a-shade to sit for a spell
I seek a bit of shade to rest my tired body.

Down in the cotton row, bendin low
I am bending over to pick the cotton from the low-lying plants.

Think I'm goin where cotton don't grow
I am contemplating leaving this place where cotton is cultivated.

Get a-way from here. Get a-way. Get a-way
I want to get away from here and escape the hardships of this place.

Hurry, hurry, thru the long long days
I am always in a rush to make it through each long day of work.

And a fightin the knats from outa my face
I am struggling to keep gnats from bothering me while I work.

Boss he says, when the crop's all in
The boss promises that we will no longer be indebted to him when the harvest is complete.

Don't owe us nothin, but we owes him
We will have paid off our debt, but we still owe our labor to the boss.

When we pays him off at 40 percent
We pay the boss 40% of the profits from our labor.

Our share a the cotton done came and went
Our portion of the cotton is quickly depleted.

We's livin in slavery, but a-thinkin free
We are living in bondage but yearning for our freedom.

Goin to find us a better place to be
We are determined to locate a better place to live.

Down in the cotton row, snappin bolls
I am picking cotton bolls off the plants.

Nothin to show but shoes full-a holes
All my labor has only led to worn-down shoes.

Bollies get tin thin -- everyday less
There are fewer and fewer cotton bolls to pick with each passing day.

Can't even earn me a cotton dress
I cannot afford to buy a dress made of the cotton I pick.

See the little kids up and down that row
The children are working in the fields alongside adults.

Mean old chilly wind a-startin to blow
The cold wind is setting in, making the work even more unbearable.

Rags is a-flappin like an old scarecrow
My rags are flapping in the wind, making me appear like a scarecrow.

Winter's comin and we just gotta go
We must leave before winter arrives and makes it harder to survive.

Travelin North, snow is a-blowin
As we head north, we encounter snowstorms.

Travelin South, more cotton growin
As we move south, more cotton fields come into view.

Travelin East, same old thing
Heading east does not bring about anything new or different.

Pickin in the fall and a-choppin in the spring
We are destined to continuously pick cotton in the fall and chop down plants in the spring.

Travelin West, ain't nothin worse
Going west does not improve our situation.

All them Okies got there first
The Okies have already beaten us there and taken all the opportunities.

Season's slack, work's all done
There is no work as the season comes to an end.

Told us all, get on back home
We are instructed to go back home, even if that means returning to poverty.

Back in cottonland, livin in a tent
We are forced to live in tents in cotton fields.

Car broke down, and money spent
Our car has broken down, and we have no money left to fix it.

Preacher says pray for your lives
The preacher advises us to pray for our safety.

Union man says 'Organize'
The union representative urges us to unite and organize to improve our circumstances.

Well the very first meetin we did call
We held our first meeting to discuss organizing.

Them bullets came through the churchhouse wall
The bosses violently oppose our efforts to organize.

Planters don't 'llow no Union here
The plantation owners forbid us from organizing and joining a union.

Machine gun's speak in it mighty clear
The powerful weapon is utilized to send a message about the seriousness of our actions.

They shot my brother, they jailed my man
Our family members are victims of violence and unlawful imprisonment.

Run my family off the land
Our family is forcefully removed from the land we work on.

But one thing sure we ain't alone
We know that we are not the only ones struggling in this fight for justice.

So we keep on hangin' on
Despite everything, we persevere and continue fighting for our rights.

No more croppin', just work in , by the day
We will no longer work on the crops and instead work for wages.

Kids don't eat when their Daddy's away
When the father is not present to work, the family goes without food.

So here I am with a goddam hoe
I am left with nothing but an unreliable hoe to make a living.

Thinkin' I'm goin' where cotton don't grow
I plan to leave this place and start a new life somewhere else.

This old cotton row looks seven miles long
The cotton rows seem never-ending and impossibly long.

Seven verses to this song
There are seven parts to this story of labor and oppression.

I pick up my hoe and I start to chop
I resume my labor with my unreliable tool.

And I know this ain't the bosses crop
I realize that we are the ones who work hard to cultivate and harvest this crop.

Belongs to the people that works this ground
The land belongs to those who labor on it and call it home.

And we don't need no boss around
We do not require a boss to tell us how to work and how to live.

If we can use a hoe, we can use a gun
If we can work with a tool as crude as a hoe, we can also use weapons to fight for our freedom.

Now, boss, it's time for you to run
The tides have turned, and it is now time for the boss to fear us and flee.