But there on that hillside, there's an old miner's graveAnd the brars and bushes about cover it up these daysAnd there's no one to claim it or care if he's gone awayFor he was only a miner and it's only an old miner's graveSo pay no attention, it's only an old miner's gravePay no attention to the brars and the weeds, let them stayCause who's gonna miss him and care that he's gone awayFor he was only a miner and it's only an old miner's grave. . .Francis E. Stebb from Holly Grove, W.V.A.In 1913, loaded coal ten hours a daySix days a week, forty-seven and a half cents a tonHe was shot down by gun thugs at the young age of thirty-oneSo the brars and brambles ramble all over his graveLike the farns in his life, for living he had to payNow there's no one to miss him and care that he's gone awayFor he was only a miner and it's only an old miner's grave. . .So is this little Parker his only memorial todayA man who gave his life for the U.M.W.A.Is this how we remember all the sacrifices he madeTo let the brars and the weeds take over his union and grave