| G | |
| Oh the girls all dance with the boys from the city |
| D | |
| And they don-t care to dance with | me. |
| G | |
| Now it | ain-t my fault that the fields are muddy |
| D | G | |
| And the red clay | stains my | feet. |
| G | |
| And it-s under my nails and it-s under my collar |
| D | |
| And it shows on my Sunday | clothes. |
| G | |
| I | do my best with soap and water |
| D | G | |
| But the damned old | dirt won-t | go. |
| CHORUS: |
| C | G | |
| But | when I pass through the | Pearly Gates |
| D | G | |
| Will my | gown be gold in | stead, |
| C | G | |
| Or just a | red clay robe with | red clay wings |
| D | G | |
| And a | red clay halo for my | head? |
| G | |
| Now it-s mud in the spring and it-s dust in the summer |
| D | |
| When it blows in a crimson | tide, |
| G | |
| Until the | trees and the leaves and the cows are the color |
| D | G | |
| Of the dirt on the | mountain | side. |
| CHORUS |
| G | |
| Now Jordan-s banks, they-re red and muddy |
| D | |
| And the rolling water is | wide, |
| G | |
| But I | got no boat so I-ll be good and muddy |
| D | G | |
| When I get to the | other | side. |
| CHORUS |
| C | G | |
| I'll take a | red clay robe with | red clay wings |
| D | G | |
| And a | red clay halo for my | head. |