It was seven in the morning and already it was eighty-five degrees
Mama said she bet that it would reach a hundred
Cause there wasn't any breeze papa had a cotton sack headed for a field
We did not own little brother was crying cause papa said
We had to come along old sheep came off the front porch
His bristles raised and ready for a fight
Mama told some bill collector better stay outside the gate
That dog'll bite I remember us all laughing
As he drove away old sheep just laid back down
It was a dusty July morning in a Mississippi
Delta cotton town dusty delta memories cotton fields
Blowing on my mind dusty delta memories
Them bring on teardrops take me back home
Kind now I pick those days like roses
Every time a July morning comes along
And my memory takes a shortcut right back down
That gravel road I walked upon when I'm falling short of happiness
I always turn the tables of my mind to the corner of a cotton field
And a weather beaten shack of rough cut pine
