Down on the farm - Our red shingled barn,
Holds horses, and cattle and hams.
Yes, and out in the back forty, high on a hill,
A flock of sheep dots the land.
Yes, and now that my daily chores are all behind,
I fish with a pole in my hand.
And perched on the sand, where river rounds the bend,
The hampsters are rollin' in their pen.

Casting my line, and by chance look up,
To see rain clouds fill the sky.
Yes, I gather my gear, and run back home,
Before it rains, by and by.
Yes, I watch as the storm races fast 'cross the corn.
That water is rising so high.
The river, my friend, is brimming at the sand.
The hampsters are swimming in their pen.

How many years can a farmer go on,
While nature shall ravage his wheat?
Yes, there's mighty tornados that chase you along,
There's dust storms, and weevils and heat.
Yes, and me 'n' my wife, at the window just smile,
While flood waters rush o'er our land.
We both wave our hands - they're comin' by again.
The hampsters come floatin' by again.