| Song | Alabama Clay |
| Artist | Garth Brooks |
| Album | The Garth Brooks Collection |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Cordle, Scaife | |
| First time he saw the ground get busted | |
| He was ten and it was 1952 | |
| His daddy worked hard from sunup to sundown | |
| And the goin' got tough behind them ol' grey mules | |
| The farm grew to be a moneymaker | |
| And the house he lived in grew up room by room | |
| The boy worked hard but soon got tired of farmin' | |
| So he slipped away one night 'neath the harvest moon | |
| His neck was red as Alabama clay | |
| But the city's call pulled him away | |
| He's got a factory job and runs a big machine | |
| He don't miss the farm or the fields of green | |
| Now the city's just a prison without fences | |
| His job is just a routine he can't stand | |
| And at night he dreams of wide-open spaces | |
| Fresh dirt between his toes and on his hands | |
| Then one day a picture came inside a letter | |
| Of a young girl with a baby in her arms | |
| And the words she wrote would change his life forever | |
| So he went to raise his family on the farm | |
| His neck is red as Alabama clay | |
| Now he's goin' home this time to stay | |
| Where the roots run deep on the family tree | |
| And the tractor rolls through the fields of green | |
| His neck is red as Alabama clay | |
| Now he's goin' home this time to stay | |
| Where the roots run deep on the family tree | |
| And the tractor rolls through the fields of green | |
| His neck is red as Alabama clay |
| zuo ci : Cordle, Scaife | |
| First time he saw the ground get busted | |
| He was ten and it was 1952 | |
| His daddy worked hard from sunup to sundown | |
| And the goin' got tough behind them ol' grey mules | |
| The farm grew to be a moneymaker | |
| And the house he lived in grew up room by room | |
| The boy worked hard but soon got tired of farmin' | |
| So he slipped away one night ' neath the harvest moon | |
| His neck was red as Alabama clay | |
| But the city' s call pulled him away | |
| He' s got a factory job and runs a big machine | |
| He don' t miss the farm or the fields of green | |
| Now the city' s just a prison without fences | |
| His job is just a routine he can' t stand | |
| And at night he dreams of wideopen spaces | |
| Fresh dirt between his toes and on his hands | |
| Then one day a picture came inside a letter | |
| Of a young girl with a baby in her arms | |
| And the words she wrote would change his life forever | |
| So he went to raise his family on the farm | |
| His neck is red as Alabama clay | |
| Now he' s goin' home this time to stay | |
| Where the roots run deep on the family tree | |
| And the tractor rolls through the fields of green | |
| His neck is red as Alabama clay | |
| Now he' s goin' home this time to stay | |
| Where the roots run deep on the family tree | |
| And the tractor rolls through the fields of green | |
| His neck is red as Alabama clay |
| zuò cí : Cordle, Scaife | |
| First time he saw the ground get busted | |
| He was ten and it was 1952 | |
| His daddy worked hard from sunup to sundown | |
| And the goin' got tough behind them ol' grey mules | |
| The farm grew to be a moneymaker | |
| And the house he lived in grew up room by room | |
| The boy worked hard but soon got tired of farmin' | |
| So he slipped away one night ' neath the harvest moon | |
| His neck was red as Alabama clay | |
| But the city' s call pulled him away | |
| He' s got a factory job and runs a big machine | |
| He don' t miss the farm or the fields of green | |
| Now the city' s just a prison without fences | |
| His job is just a routine he can' t stand | |
| And at night he dreams of wideopen spaces | |
| Fresh dirt between his toes and on his hands | |
| Then one day a picture came inside a letter | |
| Of a young girl with a baby in her arms | |
| And the words she wrote would change his life forever | |
| So he went to raise his family on the farm | |
| His neck is red as Alabama clay | |
| Now he' s goin' home this time to stay | |
| Where the roots run deep on the family tree | |
| And the tractor rolls through the fields of green | |
| His neck is red as Alabama clay | |
| Now he' s goin' home this time to stay | |
| Where the roots run deep on the family tree | |
| And the tractor rolls through the fields of green | |
| His neck is red as Alabama clay |