Though the brambles took the cabin I was born in

And the briers reclaimed the fields I used to plow

There's a yearning in my heart to be going

To that 40 acre patch God sowed in Stroud

Arkansas are your rivers still flowing

Is your cotton growing white as snow

Are the squirrels still a barking up on Old Crowley's Ridge

Has the girl I was sparking gone and burned another bridge

Arkansas

I have known the troubles I was born to know

I have wanted things a poor man is born to want

And in all my dreams and memories I go running

Through the fields of Arkansas from which I sprung

Arkansas are your rivers still flowing

Is your cotton growing white as snow

Do the young men still fiddle with the thought of growing rich

And slowly turn to old folks sitting whittling on a stick

Arkansas