A Worker's Plea

Old Kentucky cradled me—when I was young,
Then Ohio hired me—I sure got stung,
Night and day I've labored since-
Shucking corn and filling bins
And now, they say, my long, long rest begins.

Chorus

Tuck me to sleep in my old 'tucky home, 
Cover me with roses, gravel, anything but stone, 
Then let the dew drop a tear on my grave 
Like a token never spoken to a broken-hearted slave–
I ain't had a bit of rest—masters thought it wasn't best;
–Thought that I could rest the best—afer I "go west." 
'Tuck me to bed in my old 'tucky home, 
Let me lay their—stay there, cover me up with loam.

II

Old Kentucky cradled me—'tis even true–
Since I came to IOWAY, she worked me too,
Every state in all this land
Used me for a hired hand,
But why i'm broke–I fail to understand.

III

Migratory working man, I'm on my way–
I am done with sun and sand and new-mown hay;
I have worked from sun to sun,
Nothing have I ever won
And now, thank God, my harvesting is done.