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C Bm
They come in their summery dresses and jackets so fine,
C Bm
the rich folks who measure success with a big dollar sign.
C Bm
They gaze with delight at the rocks and the scraggly pines.
C Bm
They come in the Spring and they stay 'til the Fall
C Bm D
On Paradise Mountain away from it all.
Chorus
C D C D
Stubble and stone make a hard row to hoe.
C D C D
What little will grow, the drought will kill.
C D
The summer folks call it Paradise Mountain
C D
but we call it Poverty Hill.
C Bm
They say we have beautiful faces as grainy as wood.
C Bm
And, they'd like to live here of all places if only they could.
C Bm
Well, we don't get these wood, grainy faces from livin' too good.
C Bm
It's the rocks and the sun and dust and the heat.
C Bm D
It's too much of work and too little to eat.
(Chorus)
C Bm
They pack and say what a pity that they have to go.
C Bm
They say that Old Smokey's so pretty all covered with snow,
C Bm
But how we get through the winter they never will know.
C Bm
No lard for the pantry. No grist for the meal
C Bm D
And winter's are cold over Poverty Hill.
(Chorus)
C D
Yes, we call it Poverty Hill.
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