Chorus
Potter's Field,where the poor folks's go
No fancy stones,will it show
and when death comes,and I must yield
Just let me rest,in Potter's field
Then one Sunday morning came the phone call
My mamma lay on her death bed
She gathered all the children around her
So they'd hear exactly what she said
My children you know that we have money
And I could have the finest plot of ground
But I'd rather lie beside your father
In Potters field,just outside of town
Repeat Chorus
ESCOLHA OS ACORDES:
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