Verse 1 Up in the hills of Vermont where the sugar maples grow, My daddy work the same deep dirt his daddy used to know. But the bankers and the brokers got their hands on what we sowed, Now the price of staying rooted is a debt we can’t afford. Chorus This land ain’t just some paper worth a fortune down in town, It’s the sweat of generations, it’s our sacred storied ground. They call it progress, call it growth, but the truth is plain and cold, You may need the land to hold your dollars, but it still holds my soul. Verse 2 I can hear my neighbors leaving, one by one they’re packing out, Chasing jobs and hunting homes, they are leaving fertile ground. Strangers build their beige investments where the cattle used to graze, And the songs of all our kinfolk are left to older days. Chorus This land ain’t just some paper worth a fortune down in town, It’s the sweat of generations, it’s our sacred storied ground. They call it progress, call it growth, but the truth is plain and cold, You may need the land to hold your dollars, but it still holds my soul. Bridge Well the rich keep getting richer, while the farmin' man just fights, We hold the line with calloused hands through long and bitter nights. For every hill and valley, for the stories worn in stone, The final harvest shouldn’t be the land we call our home. Final Chorus This land ain’t just some bank to hold your paper from in town, It’s the sweat of generations, it’s where our hearts are bound. They call it progress, call it growth, but the truth is plain and cold, This land holds my granny. It holds my daddy. And it still holds my soul.
