About three miles from the Battelle yard The river curves on down Not far south of the town depot Sullivan's shack was found Up on the higher ground
You could see him every day Just walking down the line With his old brown sack across his back Long hair down behind Speaking his worried mind
It's a long way from the delta To the North Georgia hills A tote sack full of ginseng Won't pay my traveling bills I'm too old to ride the rails Or bum the road alone So I guess I'll never make it back to home My muddy water Mississippi delta home
The winters here, they get too cold The damp it makes me ill Can't dig no roots in the mountain side With the ground froze hard and still Gotta stay at the foot of the hill
But next summer, things turn right The companies will pay high I'll make enough money to pay my bills Bid these mountains goodbye Then he said with a sigh:
It's a long way from the delta To the North Georgia hills A tote sack full of ginseng Won't pay my traveling bills I'm too old to ride the rails Or bum the road alone So I guess I'll never make it back to home My muddy water Mississippi delta home.