Born in a town that never knew my name,
Left for the city to make my fortune and fame.
Those big city lights keep calling me;
No more pickin’ coal,
No more pickin’ coal.
Mamma, Mamma, please stop that cryin’;
There’ll soon be lots of bread, and chicken frying.
Brothers and sisters, I’ll be back;
No more pickin’ coal, across that track.
Papa, Papa, don’t worry no more;
You won’t have to work at the company store.