Bill Brown made a million,
Bill Brown, think of that.
That boy you remember,
As poor as a rat.

He hoed for the neighbors,
Did jobs by the day.
And Bill made a million,
Or near it they say.

He worked for my father,
You'll maybe recall.
He wasn't a wonder,
Not that, not at all.

He couldn't out-hoe me,
Or cover more ground,
Or hoe any faster,
Or beat me around.

In fact, I was better
In one way that I know.
One toot from the kitchen
And home I would go.

But Bill Brown always hoed
To the end of the row.

We used to get hungry
Out there in the corn.
You talk about music,
What equals a horn?

A horn yellin' dinner,
And tomatoes and beans,
And pork and potatoes,
And gravy and greens.

I ain't blamin' no one
For quittin' on time.
To quit with the whistle,
That ain't any crime.

But as for the million,
Well, this much I know.
Bill Brown always hoed
To the end of the row.