You're a river, more than water And your waters, more than gold Your ripples are all stories Which your many sons have told Your sound is made of drum beats For which many half-heartened died Your water's made of teardrops Which your southern people cried
So, roll on sweet Mississippi Wash the faces of your sons And bathe them in that golden delta sun Yes! And fill them with your spirit For which dixie heroes die Roll on sweet Mississippi deep and wide
You have watched the women's faces As their men went off to die For their heartland and their country Never asking why You have heard the others laughing At your gentle southern way Still you keep right on rolling Never carrying what they say
You have cloaking fed your people In their bodies and their minds And the warmth of your reflections Has raised them to be kind You're a river, more than water Lord! your waters, more than gold Oh! You're a mother to the southland You're a wonder to be hold.