Farm House by The Track

A town, deep down in Georgia,

below the mountains and hills.
So tiny, only a few lived there,
until they built the new saw mills.

Money rolled in from timber sales.
Forest gave way to farm land.
Where deer once pranced, corn now grew.
Planted by rough and strong hands.

Years before, a farmer built,
a small house to call home.
He worked day and night,
He finally had a house he now owned.

The money men rolled into town,
trying to buy up all the lumber.
The farmer said, you can buy my trees,
the dollar amount, will be a big number.

My home is not to be touched,
cut only the trees you can see.
I have a plan, don't you know,
a race track's going in the back forty.

My dream is to see the cars race.
From my home where I can stay comfy.
To me, the farm life is boring,
This is a better way to earn money.

All the trees were cut down.
A track carved out in their place.
All he wanted, was to be in his home,
stay comfy, and watch the cars race.

The races went on for years.
His track, the only one around.
There came a time when others saw,
a much better use for his ground.

They came to take his home.
They came to take his track,
The farmer went for his gun,
They came to take it all back.

The farmer died that day.
Killed defending his place.

he only wanted to be in his home,

stay comfy, and watch the cars race.