life on the farm
Life on the farm
is hard to forget,
from dawn to dust
it was nothing but sweat.
It was shucking corn
and milking cows,
and hoeing tobacky
and slopping sows.
And digging taters
and hauling hay,
there never was time
for any play.
Feeding chickens
and cleaning stalls,
with sloppy cow candy
half up the walls.
Cuttin’ pigs
and choppin’ weeds,
and pullin’ calves
and sowin’ seeds.
But come saturday night
we broke loose,
and took down a jar
of that mountain juice.
You’d have to be
a dumb ignert city slicker,
not to know I’m talking bout
home made corn likker.
We’d pull the cork
on that little brown jug,
and pass it around
and we’d take a slug.
And we’d crank up loud
uncle bill monroe,
and build a fire
and have a hoedown show.
And we’d stomp and holler
and kick up dust,
and spit and fight
but we never cussed.
And when Sunday morning
came rolling around,
there we’d all be,
scattered on the ground.
And maw would throw water
in our faces,
and say looky thar paw
at them good fer nothing disgraces.
And that’s how it was
down on the farm,
and that’s why I am today
full of tact and charm.
(2015)
