All the girls all dance with the boys from the city,
And they don`t care to dance with me.
Now it ain`t my fault that the fields are muddy,
And the red clay stains my feet.
And it`s under my nails and it`s under my collar,
And it shows on my Sunday clothes.
Though I do my best with the soap and the water,
But the damned old dirt won`t go.
But when I pass through the pearly gate,
Will my gown be gold instead?
Or just a red clay robe with red clay wings,
And a red clay halo for my head?
Now it`s mud in the spring and it`s dust in the summer,
When it blows in a crimson tide.
Until trees and leaves and the cows are the colour,
Of the dirt on the mountainside.
But when I pass through the pearly gate,
Will my gown be gold instead?
Or just a red clay robe with red clay wings,
And a red clay halo for my head?
Now Jordan`s banks they`re red and muddy,
And the rolling water is wide.
But I got no boat, so I`ll be good and muddy,
When I get to the other side.
And when I pass through the pearly gate,
Will my gown be gold instead?
Or just a red clay robe with red clay wings,
And a red clay halo for my head?
I`ll take the red clay robe with the red clay wings,
And a red clay halo for my head.