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