Really don't mind if you sit with the cows
My words but a whisper -- heard only by SOWS.
I may make you feel but I can't make you think.
Your truck's on the blocks and your brain's in the sink.
So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
you hillbillies really know how it feels to be thick as a hick.
And the old-scarecrow virtues are all swept away in
the tornado season
the moral melee.
The elastic retreat rings the close of play as the last gust uncovers
the newfangled way.
But your new shoes are worn at the heels and
your reneck skin rapidly peels and
you slack-jawed yokels know how it feels to be thick as a hick.

And the love that I feel ain't so far away:
It's that sister that I just kissed today -- and you
shake your head and
say it's a shame.

Spin me back down the years and the days in the South.
Draw the old worn-out curtains and shut up your dang mouth.
Throw me down the darn banjo: let them sing along.