1. O brotherly affection, help me endure
The toil of farming, how miserable and muddy it is

2. The harvest report has come this year
Showing seventy thousand, a number that astounds

3. How glad I was, thinking the cotton would suffice
But they exaggerated it and inflated its yield

4. So my anxiety grew in vain, oh what a pity
Neither did the cotton suffice, nor did the farmer fulfill it

5. Until I saw myself like the town’s money changer, so much
Does he count with thousands and the pillow as his bed