Baby, I know that we got trouble in the fields
And the bankers swarm like locusts out there, turning away our yields
And the trains roll by our silo, silver in the rain
Leave our pockets full of nothing but these dreams of the golden grain

I can see the folks lined up downtown at the station
They're all buying their tickets out and they're talking a Great Depression
Our parents had their hard times fifty years ago
When they stood out in these empty fields, in dust as deep as snow

And all this trouble in our fields
If this rain can fall these wounds can heal
They'll never take our native soil
And if we sell that new John Deere then we'll work these crops with sweat and tears

You'll be the mule, I'll be the plow
Come harvest time, we'll work it out
There's still a lot of love here in these troubled fields

There's a book up on the shelf about the dust bowl days
There's a little bit of you and a little bit of me in the photos on every page
Our children live in the city and they rest upon our shoulders
They don't want the rain to fall or the weather to get colder

And all this trouble in our fields
If this rain can fall these wounds can heal
They'll never take our native soil
And if we sell that new John Deere and then we'll work these crops with sweat and tears
You'll be the mule, I'll be the plow
Come harvest time we'll work it out
There's still a lot of love here in these troubled fields

You'll be the mule, I'll be the plow
Come harvest time we'll work it out
There's still a lot of love here in these troubled fields