I'll sing you a song and its not very long
It's about a young man who wouldn't hoe corn
Strange to say I cannot tell
This young man was always well
He planted his corn in the month of June
By July it was knee-high
First of September, come a big frost
And all this young man's corn was lost
He went to the fence and there peeped in
The weeds and grass come up to his chin
The weeds and grass, they come so high
Because this young man poor decide
He went down to his neighbor's door
Where he'd often been before
Saying, "Pretty little miss, will you marry me?
Pretty little miss, what do you say?"
"Well, here you are, one for to wed
And you cannot make your own corn bread
Single I am, single I'll remain
A lazy man I'll not maintain"
Well, he went down to that pretty little litter
And I hope by heck that he don't gitter
She gave him a beaten, sure as your born
All because he didn't hoe corn