Found in the people's smiles and in the rich foods
And in the peeling paint on barns and on houses.
There's never a shortage of sweet tea
(and unsweetened tea is an unheard of travesty)
Small towns adorn every corner of the state
And shine like rhinestones on a rodeo star's ten-gallon hat.
Lookin' for somethin,' Mister? Well, folla me--I know where it is!
How are you this eve'nin? That's good ta hear, man; me? Oh, I'm pritty good, thanks!
Y'all slay me!
The dialect is delectable and down-right darling and
Strangers make strangers feel welcome down south
It's ingrained in us from the first breath of air we breathe
The first few blinks of our eyes
The first wails of our voices
No, it's not the perfect place--no place is, really
We've made grave inflictions on the human race down here
And the future generations will pay for it
With questions to our intelligence
To our morality
To our sanity
To our character
All we really want is to move on
To grow like the rice we've planted
Like the corn reaching for the sky
Into bowls of cotton, ready for picking
Those who do not know us will belittle us
But believe me when I say
We know what asparagus is.