The land I’m talking, covers by soil,
The black is rich and suitable for growing grain,
The red is poor and able to plant tea,
The grey is paddy soil that stretches on the vast plain.
It grows crops, grass and forest,
With flower in spring, fruit in fall,
Was burned with wildfire, tilled by our forefathers,
Was defended when enemies trampled on.
Land, food, water and air,
That's enough for me, then I'd like
To be born, grow up and die naturally,
At last the land will grow a grave for me.
