The Kingston Trio – Poverty Hill (Guitar)

     C                                             D
They come in their summery dresses and jackets so fine,

    C                                                D
the rich folks who measure success with a big dollar sign.

     C                                               D
They gaze with delight at the rocks and the scraggly pines.

     C                           D
They come in the Spring and they stay 'til the Fall

   C                 A             D
On Paradise Mountain away from it all.

D           A                        D
Stubble and stone make a hard row to hoe.

                 C                     D
What little will grow, the drought will kill.

    C                             D
The summer folks call it Paradise Mountain

    C                  D
but we call it Poverty Hill.

     C                                        D
They say we have beautiful faces as grainy as wood.

            C                                            D
Yea, they'd like to live here of all places if only they could.

         C                                                  D
Well, we don't get those wood, grainy faces from livin' too good.

         C                          D
It's the rocks and the dust and the sun and the heat.

     C                        A         D
It's too much of work and too little to eat.

D           A                        D
Stubble and stone make a hard row to hoe.

                 C                     D
What little will grow, the drought will kill.

    C                             D
The summer folks call it Paradise Mountain

    C                  D
but we call it Poverty Hill.

     C                                          D
They pack and say what a pity that they have to go.

     C                                                D
They say that Old Smokey's so pretty all covered with snow,

    C                                             D
But how we get through the winter they never will know.

   C                       D
No lard for the pantry. No grist for the mill

    C                 A            D
And winter's are cold over Poverty Hill.

D           A                        D
Stubble and stone make a hard row to hoe.

                 C                     D
What little will grow, the drought will kill.

    C                             D
The summer folks call it Paradise Mountain

    C                  D
but we call it Poverty Hill.

     C                  D
Yes, we call it Poverty Hill.