Sangtekst: William Elliott Whitmore. Lee County Flood.

The summer wind is blowing westward
over the field of fresh moved hay
Let's go up to the barn loft
lay back and watch the sparrows play
I can see the evening sky
from the holes rusted in the tin
Let's close our eyes and fall asleep
and listen to the storm roll in

It sounded like a thousand horses' hooves
The sound of the pourin' rain on the old tin roof
The clouds were as black as the smoke form the stack
of an old coal-burning train
Lay back and listen to the sound of the pourin' rain

It ain't rained in weeks and now it just won't stop
All the rivers and the creeks
are getting fuller with every drop
If the levee holds it's ground
and keeps that water back
the Mississippi won't reach my little tar-paper shack

Well now the sun shines on the roof
and the moonshine is in the cellar
and what a happy feller I am
to finally see the sun
now that the rain is done
'cause I've had about all I can stand
I can't tell where my pond begins
an where my cornfield ends
The cattle done floated away
'cause the water's up over the fence