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Harold Wilson
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Fred Eaglesmith
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1
Harold Wilson is my name, son
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Why don't you sit a spell
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I live right here on the Fergusson Road
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At the Paradise Motel
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And though you do not know me
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There's a story I like to tell
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It's a story that I'm sure you know well
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It's a story that I'm sure you know well
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I had me a place on Thunder Ridge
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In a doomsday shack
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My wife had left and took the kids
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A couple of years back
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And I spent most of my mornings
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Thinking about that
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And my afternoons trying to figure out what to plant
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I spent my afternoons trying to figure out what to plant
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Did you ever try to farm a farm
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With a pick and a shovel
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Try to put a field into corn
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Just wouldn't grow nothin'
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Starin' down across the town
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You wonder why I even bother
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When up the road there's a vacant room
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Climate control and colour
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And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars
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And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars
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There wasn't money in corn
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And there wasn't money in beans
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They took my telephone, shut off my electricity
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Then a letter came in the mail
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Saying there's taxes owed by me
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If I was ever going to pay
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Well, I had three weeks
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If I was ever going to pay
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Well, I had three weeks
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Did you ever try to farm a farm
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With a pick and a shovel
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Try to put a field into corn
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Just wouldn't grow nothin'
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Starin' down across the town
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You wonder why I even bother
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When up the road there's a vacant room
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Climate control and colour
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And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars
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And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars
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Well, they sold that farm to some fool for ten cents on the dollar
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I saw him out there last week, I was on my way to visit my daughter
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And that son of a gun was out there
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Trying to hook a windmill up to water
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When he heard me laugh, well, he turned and I swear he hollered
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When he heard me laugh, well, he turned, I swear he hollered
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Did you ever try to farm a farm
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With a pick and a shovel
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Try to put a field into corn
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Just wouldn't grow nothin'
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Starin' down across the town
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You wonder why I even bother
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When up the road there's a vacant room
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Climate control and colour
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And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars
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And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars
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Now the government cheques come down the pike
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As regular as rain
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And I sit outside most nights
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'Cept when the June bugs drive me in
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Harold Wilson is my name, son
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Why don't you sit a spell
68
I live right here on the Fergusson Road
69
At the Paradise Motel
Harold Wilson
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