The girls all dance with the boys from the city
But they don’t care to dance with me
Well it ain’t my fault that the fields are muddy
And the red clay stains my feet
Well its under my nails and its under my collar
And it shows on my Sunday clothes
Though I do my best with soap and water
That damned old dirt won’t go
But when I pass through the pearly gates
Will my gown be gold instead
Or just a red clay robe with red clay wings
And a red clay halo for my head
It’s mud in the spring and it’s dust in the summer
When it rolls in crimson tide
‘Til the trees and leaves and the cows are the color
Of the dirt on the mountainside
Now Jordan’s banks are red and muddy
And the rolling water is wide
But I got no boat, so I’ll be good and muddy
When I get to the other side
I’ll take the red clay robe and the red clay wings
And the red clay halo for my head