Freedom Seekin. . . .

Times is gettin’ harder,
Money’s gettin’ scarce.
Soon as I gather my cotton and corn,
I’m bound to leave this place.

White folks sittin’ in the parlor,
Eatin’ that cake and food,
Nigger’s way down to the kitchen,
Squabblin’ over turnip greens.

Times is gettin’ harder,
Money’s gettin’ scarce.
Soon as I gather my cotton and corn,
I’m bound to leave this place.

Me and my brother was out.
Thought we’d have some fun.
He stole three chickens.
We began to run.

Times is gettin’ harder,
Money’s gettin’ scarce.
Soon as I gather my cotton and corn
I’m bound to leave this place.