I got on that train and I never looked back
Rode it up north 'til I ran out of track
I left Birmingham to learn a new trade
And the six bucks an hour I made
But sometimes at night I still dream about then
Tarpaper houses and momma and them
I miss red clay after the rain
Dying the rivers with that crimson stain
I miss cotton, camellias, curtains of cane
And red clay after the rain
Well I don't miss August out in the field
Or breaking your back without any yield
And I don't miss all of those holes in my shoes
Or not having nothing to lose
But sometimes I hear an old song on the wind
And part of me wants to go back there again
I guess the thing about all that red clay
Is there ain't enough water to wash it away
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