ELEVEN CENT COTTON AND FORTY CENT MEAT
As recorded by Bob Ferguson, 1928.

PART 1

1. Eleven-cent cotton, forty-cent meat.
How in the world can a poor man eat?
Flour up high, cotton down low.
How in the world can we raise the dough?
Our clothes worn out, shoes run down,
Old slouch hat with a hole in the crown,
Back nearly broken, fingers all wore,
Cotton going down to rise no more.

2. Eleven-cent cotton, ten-dollar pants.
Who in the devil has got a chance?
We can't buy clothes; we can't buy meat.
Got too much cotton, not enough to eat.
Can't help each other; what shall we do?
I can't solve the problem, so it's up to you.
Eleven-cent cotton, two-dollar hose.
Guess we will have to go without any clothes.

3. Eleven-cent cotton, a carload of tax.
The load's too heavy for our poor backs.
Got a set of(?) farmers we all know well.
There's something wrong as sure as hell.
We all work hard; we groan and sweat.
We're plumb ruined and a boat(?) upset.
No use talkin'; any man's beat
With eleven-cent cotton and forty-cent meat.

4. Eleven-cent cotton, forty-cent meat.
Keep gettin' thinner cause we don't eat.
Try to raise peas, try to raise beans.
All we can raise is turnip greens.
Folks always sick; pa must cough.
Ain't had no sugar since ma dropped off.
No use talkin'; any man's beat
With eleven-cent cotton and forty-cent meat.

5. Eleven-cent cotton, forty-cent meat.
Feels like a chain is on our feet.
Poor gettin' poorer all around here.
Kids comin' regular ev'ry year.
Planted corn, was a wheat year.
Planted wheat, and it turned a corn year.
No use talkin'; any man's beat
With eleven-cent cotton, forty-cent meat.

6. Eleven-cent cotton, forty-cent meat.
How in the world can a poor man eat?
Mule's in the barn, the crops laid by.
The crib's plumb empty and the cow's gone dry.
Well water's low, nearly out o' sight.
Can't take a bath on a Saturday night.
No use talkin'; any man's beat
With eleven-cent cotton and forty-cent meat.

PART 2

7. Funny how prices make such a range!
The poor old farmer is always shortchanged.
Forty-cent meat, eleven-cent cotton,
Makes a fellow mad when he's treated so rotten.
We fatten up our hogs, take 'em into town.
All we get is six cents a pound.
Very next day we have to buy it back
At forty cents a pound in a paper sack.

8. Eleven-cent cotton, forty-cent meat,
Sun always scorching up our wheat.
Hogs got the colic, cattle mouth disease.
Boll weevils only eatin' all they please.
Even the help is so lazy,
No wonder that we're all crazy.
No use talkin'; any man's beat
With eleven-cent cotton and forty-cent meat.

9. Eleven-cent cotton, forty-cent meat.
How in the world can a poor man eat?
Pray for the sunshine, 'course it will rain.
Things getting' worse, drivin' all insane.
Built a nice barn, painted it brown,
Lightnin' come along and burned it down.
No use talkin'; any man's beat
With eleven-cent cotton and forty-cent meat.

10. Eleven-cent cotton, forty-cent meat,
Can't buy shoes to put on our feet.
Boll weevils here, boll weevils there,
Eats up our cotton and just don't care.
Then high water us awakes.
What the boll weevil won't eat the high water takes.
No use talkin'; any man's beat
With eleven-cent cotton and forty-cent meat.

11. Eleven-cent cotton, forty-cent meat.
How in the world can we stand the heat?
Summertime burn, winter time freeze,
Clothes worn out and we're ragged at the knees.
Hired hand sits and sleeps
While the hogs run loose rootin' up the wheat.
No use talkin;' any man's beat
With eleven-cent cotton and forty-cent meat.

12. No corn in the crib, no chicks in the yard,
No meat in the smokehouse, no tubs full o' lard,
No cream in the pitcher, no honey in the mug,
No butter on the table, no molasses in the jug.
Things to eat are always high.
Ev'ryone is selling; no one will buy.
We won't quit kickin'; the fault's not our own.
We just can't reap where we have sown.