I am a poor boy farmer
who when weather permits,
plows the frost bitten fields
when a little sunshine warms
Then at sunset, me and the mule retire
the mule to the barn, me to my shack
the mule to where mules drift when they get sleepy
me to a lover of ebony arms, of eyes that look like coffee
darker is she than midnight, she sparkles in the darkness
more beautiful than morning light is she
my cocoa girl, where in her bosom
I am more than just a poor boy farmer
Tomorrow, should I live to see the sunrise
and if not, I die in peace,
for she is there to box the pieces
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