Lyrics

From the barron prairies, never tempted by Black Gold. To the Isle of the tall trees, where brother and I were born. They worked harder than the ocean waves crash on the shore, long before the thought of our mountain home.
Well the layoffs came and went, the money then dried up too. Daddy won’t punch that clock no more; he screwed down his last screw. Faced with fight or flight we turned to you. Without looking back, you led us straight to our mountain home.
So we set out fourth down the long highway, bound for the Eastern Koots. To a sleepy little town west of Wild Horse Creek, where Samuel Steele once stood.
Brother pumped the bellows in the iron shop, daddy worked with wood. While I harvest gardens with the the ghosts, in our mountain home.
Mama was a merchant; she could sell water to a sailor man. All they ever wanted was to live our lives like each day was our last. We’d follow you to the pearly gates of heaven then hell and back. But for now we can stay in our mountain home.