It was seven in the morning and already it was eighty-five degrees
Mama said she bet that it would reach a hundred cause there wasn't any breeze
Papa had a cotton sack headed for a field we did not own
Little brother was crying cause papa said we had to come along
Old sheep came off the front porch, his bristles raised and ready for a fight
Mama told some bill collector, better stay outside the gate that dog'll bite
I remember us all laughing as he drove away old sheep just laid back down
It was a dusty July morning in a Mississippi delta cotton town
Dusty delta memories, cotton fields blowing on my mind
Dusty delta memories, them bring on teardrops take me back home kind
Now I pick those days like roses every time a July morning comes along
And my memory takes a shortcut right back down that gravel road I walked upon
When I'm falling short of happiness I always turn the tables of my mind
To the corner of a cotton field and a weather beaten shack of rough cut pine
Dusty delta memories, cotton fields blowing on my mind
Dusty delta memories, them bring on teardrops take me back home kind
