Some say there’s ghosts in the hills, and they’re black as the coal,
And voices that scream in the night from the deep, dark below,
There was poor Ivy and Scratch, and friends too many to name, who were caught in a thundering landslide, and there they’ll remain.
And I cry, “Oh, Daddy, oh, Dad, don’t go,”
He won’t be coming home, no,
And mother, dear mum don’t you know I’m feeling so old and alone?
I’m the son next in line for the black lung dying,
And just a few come back from the Rocky Mountain mines.
We’re much too poor to escape the weight of the earth,
In tunnels and dust, and fear, we will measure our worth,
Here’s our bones for the soil, our blood for the land,
Our souls for sweet Jesus, our bodies be damned.
And I cried, “Oh, Daddy, oh, Dad, don’t go,”
He won’t be coming home, no,
And mother, dear mum don’t you know I’m feeling so old and alone?
I’m the son next in line for the black lung dying,
And just a few come back from the Rocky Mountain mines.
Well sometimes I wonder where my Daddy's gone,
But I know he’s gone to the wilderness, and he ain’t coming home,
Then I get to wondering when it’ll be my turn to lie down in that lonesome place, Lord, down under the ground.
It’s said the mark of Cain is on the miners head, and it don’t wash with lye soap ‘til he’s good and he’s dead,
I saw my Daddy wave from the top of the hill.
He said, “Come along, son”
I said, “Soon I will.”
And I cry, “Daddy, oh Dad, don’t, go,”
He won’t be coming home, no,
And mother, dear mom don’t you know I’m feeling so old and alone?
‘Cause I’m the son next in line for the black lung dying,
And just a few come back from the Rocky Mountain mines,
And just a few come back from the Rocky Mountain mines.
