OUR BASIC NEED IS FOOD; IT DOES NOT COME FROM HEAVEN. |
There are men who build the Motor Cars Men who drive a train Folks they call solicitors Some can forecast rain People who can kick a ball And some can dance and sing Others who will teach your child Or make an Airplane wing But the PLOUGHMAN feeds the world A man will come and build a road His wife can mend a car His son will put the roof on houses His lass could be a star His dad was once an engine driver His mum would mend a sock His sister she can write a letter His brother mend a clock But the PLOUGHMAN feeds the world Your friend will programme computers His friend can build a kite Their wives are making money By something that they write A dustman gets his bread and butter By clearing up your trash An artist paints your picture To relieve you of your cash But the PLOUGHMAN feeds the world There are guys who chop the trees down There are vets who will cure your cat Politicians who can blather on About all things, this and that Your Priest he has a calling To save your very soul But most of it my hungry friend Is plain old hyperbole But the PLOUGHMAN feeds the world The ploughman takes his Snap Bag out Into a lonely field Turns the soil over firmly Food mountains there to yield He buries every weed in deep Makes way for a billion seeds Takes pride in long straight furrows To serve his brothers needs Yes the PLOUGHMAN feeds the world |