Тональность
D A7 In a Mississippi cotton picking delta town, D One dusty street to walk up and down, G Nothing much to see but a starving hound A7 D In a Mississippi cotton picking delta town. D A7 Down in the delta where I was born, D All we raised was cotton, potatoes and corn, G I’ve picked cotton till my fingers hurt, A7 D Dragging that sack thru that delta dirt. D A7 And I’ve worked hard the whole week long, D Picking my fingers to the blood and bone, G There ain’t a lot of money in a cotton bale, A7 D At least not when you’re trying to sell. D A7 In a Mississippi cotton picking delta town, D One dusty street to walk up and down, G Nothing much to see but a starving hound A7 D In a Mississippi cotton picking delta town. D A7 On Saturday nights w’ed get dressed up, D Catch us a drive on a pickup truck, G On a gravel road it nearly strangled us, A7 That cotton picking delta dust. D A7 We’d sit across the street on the depot porch, D Looking at the folks looking back at us, G Munching on a dust covered ice cream cone, A7 D And wondering how we’d get back home. D A7 In a Mississippi cotton picking delta town, D One dusty street to walk up and down, G Nothing much to see but a starving hound A7 D In a Mississippi cotton picking delta town.
