﻿Harvest Land
(Air: Beulah Land)
By T-D and H.

The harvest drive is on again,
John Farmer needs a lot of men;
To work beneath the Kansas heat
And shock and stack and thresh his wheat.

CHORUS
Oh Farmer John—Poor Farmer John,
Our faith in you is over-drawn.
—Old Fossil of the Feudal Age,
Your only creed is Going Wage—
“Bull Durum” will not buy our Brawn—
You’re out of luck—poor farmer, John.

And advertise, in Omaha,
“Come. leave the Valley of the Kaw.”
Nebraska Calls, “Don’t be mis-led.”
“We’ll furnish you a feather bed!”

Then South Dakota “lets a roar,”
“We need ten thousand men—or more;”
“Our grin is turning—prices drop!
For God’s Sake save our bumper crop.”

In North Dakota—(I’ll be darn)
The “wise guy” sleeps in “hoosiers” barn
—The hoosier breaks into his snore
And yells, “It’s quarter after four.”

CHORUS
Oh Harvest Land—Sweet Burning Sand!
—As on the sun-kissed field I stand
I look away across the plain
And wonder if it’s going to rain—
I vow, by all the Birds of Cain,
That Iwill not be here again.
