Poverty Hill

They come in their summery dresses and jackets so fine

The rich folks who measure success with a big dollar sign

They gaze with delight with the rocks and the scraggly pines

The come in the Spring and they stay 'til the Fall

On Paradise Mountain away from it all

Stubble and stone make a hard row to how

What little will grow, the drought will kill

The summer folks call it Paradise Mountain

But we call it Poverty Hill

They say we have beautiful faces as grainy as wood

Yeah, they'd like to live here of all places if only they could

Well, we don't get those wood, grainy faces from livin' too good

It's the rocks and the dust and sun and the heat

It's too much of work and too little to eat

Stubble and stone make a hard row to how

What little will grow, the drought will kill

The summer folks call it Paradise Mountain

But we call it Poverty Hill

They pack and they say what a pity that they have to go

They say that Old Smokey's so pretty all covered with snow

But how we get through the winter they never will know

No lard for the pantry, no grist for the meal

And winter's are cold over Poverty Hill

Stubble and stone make a hard row to how

What little will grow, the drought will kill

The summer folks call it Paradise Mountain

But we call it Poverty Hill

Yes, we call it Poverty Hill