D A7 In a Mississippi cotton picking delta town, D One dusty street to walk up and down, G Nothing much to see but a starving hound A7 D In a Mississippi cotton picking delta town. D A7 Down in the delta where I was born, D All we raised was cotton, potatoes and corn, G Ive picked cotton till my fingers hurt, A7 D Dragging that sack thru that delta dirt. D A7 And Ive worked hard the whole week long, D Picking my fingers to the blood and bone, G There aint a lot of money in a cotton bale, A7 D At least not when youre trying to sell. D A7 In a Mississippi cotton picking delta town, D One dusty street to walk up and down, G Nothing much to see but a starving hound A7 D In a Mississippi cotton picking delta town. D A7 On Saturday nights wed get dressed up, D Catch us a drive on a pickup truck, G On a gravel road it nearly strangled us, A7 That cotton picking delta dust. D A7 Wed sit across the street on the depot porch, D Looking at the folks looking back at us, G Munching on a dust covered ice cream cone, A7 D And wondering how wed get back home. D A7 In a Mississippi cotton picking delta town, D One dusty street to walk up and down, G Nothing much to see but a starving hound A7 D In a Mississippi cotton picking delta town.