C                                            Bm
They come in their summery dresses and jackets so fine, 
    C                                                Bm
the rich folks who measure success with a big dollar sign.
     C                                               Bm
They gaze with delight at the rocks and the scraggly pines. 
     C                           Bm
They come in the Spring and they stay 'til the Fall
   C                 Bm           D
On Paradise Mountain away from it all.

Chorus:

C           D            C           D
Stubble and stone make a hard row to hoe. 
     C           D         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                                        Bm
They say we have beautiful faces as grainy as wood.
            C                                            Bm 
And, they'd like to live here of all places if only they could.
         C                                                  Bm
Well, we don't get these wood, grainy faces from livin' too good. 
         C                     Bm            
It's the rocks and the sun and dust and the heat.
     C                        Bm        D
It's too much of work and too little to eat.

(Chorus)

     C                                          Bm
They pack and say what a pity that they have to go.
     C                                                Bm
They say that Old Smokey's so pretty all covered with snow,
    C                                             Bm
But how we get through the winter they never will know.
   C                       Bm     
No lard for the pantry. No grist for the meal
    C                      Bm      D
And winter's are cold over Poverty Hill.

(Chorus)
     C                  D
Yes, we call it Poverty Hill.