You're hitting land with hardened hoe.
But all you plant don′t want to grow none.
Beyond the pale, driven dust
It's hard to tell which way it goes.
Doing well, then way down the road, son.
You′re taking hell and giving blood
Could be a hard row to hoe.
Where it ends we never know.
How or when or way down the road, son.
What kind of men will we become?
Don't let them break me, lord.
Don′t let them break me, lord.
Could be the way it all was sown.
Could be a hard row to hoe.