Harlod Wilson

Fred EaglesmithFred Eaglesmith 

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Fred Eaglesmith

Frederick John Elgersma (born July 9, 1957), known by the stage name Fred Eaglesmith, is a Canadian alternative country singer-songwriter, one of nine children raised by a farming family in rural Southern Ontario. As a teenager Eaglesmith hopped a freight train out to Western Canada, and began writing songs and performing. He is known for writing songs about machines or vehicles, including songs about trains, tractors, trucks, cars, and engines. Rural life, dogs, guns, drinking and farming/ranching are other common themes. Many of his songs are about failing farms and small businesses. Down and out characters dealing with loss of love or livelihood, and quirky rural folk also populate his songs. His songwriting uses many of the techniques of short story writi… more »

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Harold Wilson is my name, son
Why don't you sit a spell
I live right here on the Fergusson Road
At the Paradise Motel

And though you do not know me
There's a story I like to tell
It's a story that I'm sure you know well
It's a story that I'm sure you know well

I had me a place on Thunder Ridge
In a doomsday shack
My wife had left and took the kids
A couple of years back
And I spent most of my mornings
Thinking about that
And my afternoons trying to figure out what to plant
I spent my afternoons trying to figure out what to plant

Did you ever try to farm a farm
With a pick and a shovel
Try to put a field into corn
Just wouldn't grow nothin'
Starin' down across the town
You wonder why I even bother
When up the road there's a vacant room
Climate control and colour
And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars
And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars

There wasn't money in corn
And there wasn't money in beans
They took my telephone, shut off my electricity
Then a letter came in the mail
Saying there's taxes owed by me
If I was ever going to pay
Well, I had three weeks
If I was ever going to pay
Well, I had three weeks

Did you ever try to farm a farm
With a pick and a shovel
Try to put a field into corn
Just wouldn't grow nothin'
Starin' down across the town
You wonder why I even bother
When up the road there's a vacant room
Climate control and colour
And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars
And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars

Well, they sold that farm to some fool for ten cents on the dollar
I saw him out there last week, I was on my way to visit my daughter
And that son of a gun was out there
Trying to hook a windmill up to water
When he heard me laugh, well, he turned and I swear he hollered
When he heard me laugh, well, he turned, I swear he hollered

Did you ever try to farm a farm
With a pick and a shovel
Try to put a field into corn
Just wouldn't grow nothin'
Starin' down across the town
You wonder why I even bother
When up the road there's a vacant room
Climate control and colour
And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars
And you could stay there by the month for a hundred dollars

Now the government cheques come down the pike
As regular as rain
And I sit outside most nights
'Cept when the June bugs drive me in

Harold Wilson is my name, son
Why don't you sit a spell
I live right here on the Fergusson Road
At the Paradise Motel

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