Fred Eaglesmith - Harold Wilson lyrics

rate me

Harold Wilson is my name, son

Why don't you sit a spell

I live right here on the Fergusson Road

At the Paradise Motel

And though you do not know me

There's a story I like to tell

It's a story that I'm sure you know well

It's a story that I'm sure you know well

I had me a place on Thunder Ridge

In a doomsday shack

My wife had left and took the kids

A couple of years back

And I spent most of my mornings

Thinking about that

And my afternoons trying to figure out what to plant

I spent my afternoons trying to figure out what to plant

Did you ever try to farm a farm

With a pick and a shovel

Try to put a field into corn

Just wouldn't grow nothin'

Starin' down across the town

You wonder why I even bother

When up the road there's a vacant room

Climate control and colour

And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars

And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars

There wasn't money in corn

And there wasn't money in beans

They took my telephone, shut off my electricity

Then a letter came in the mail

Saying there's taxes owed by me

If I was ever going to pay

Well, I had three weeks

If I was ever going to pay

Well, I had three weeks

Did you ever try to farm a farm

With a pick and a shovel

Try to put a field into corn

Just wouldn't grow nothin'

Starin' down across the town

You wonder why I even bother

When up the road there's a vacant room

Climate control and colour

And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars

And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars

Well, they sold that farm to some fool for ten cents on the dollar

I saw him out there last week, I was on my way to visit my daughter

And that son of a gun was out there

Trying to hook a windmill up to water

When he heard me laugh, well, he turned and I swear he hollered

When he heard me laugh, well, he turned, I swear he hollered

Did you ever try to farm a farm

With a pick and a shovel

Try to put a field into corn

Just wouldn't grow nothin'

Starin' down across the town

You wonder why I even bother

When up the road there's a vacant room

Climate control and colour

And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars

And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars

Now the government cheques come down the pike

As regular as rain

And I sit outside most nights

'Cept when the June bugs drive me in

Harold Wilson is my name, son

Why don't you sit a spell

I live right here on the Fergusson Road

At the Paradise Motel