Texty: Garth Brooks. Alabama Clay.

First time he saw the ground get busted
He was 10, it was 1952
His daddy worked hard
From sun up til sundown
And the goin' got tough
Behind them old gray mules

The farm grew to be a money maker
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
B'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 run's 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 derams of wide open spaces
Gresh dirt tween 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 was red
As alabama clay
Now he's going 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 was red
As alabama clay
Now he's going 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 alababma clay