I left the field one evening my fingers so cold and sore

From fair to middlin' cotton 300 pounds or more

Jim McCann was still pickin' straddle in the row

The sun began to sinkin' and the wind began to blow

He was bound to get 400 a draggin' a twelve foot sack

I hollered out Jim come weight it but I only saw his back

So I went on home to supper and I gathered around my kin

I was thinkin' of Jim out there pickin' with winter settin' in

Next morning the air was freezin' the snow was nine feet deep

I jerked on my long red handles and I left my kids asleep

I got myself a shovel and went to where I seen Jim go

And commenced to a diggin' for him at the other end of his row

I found his body frozen and I took him in to thaw

I dragged in his sack and I weighed it and I added Jim's marks that I saw

The total was over 400 so he'd picked more than he'd bet

Of fair to middlin' cotton but Jim ain't thawed out yet