Corn

Well, I bet you heard If you ever read the Word Of the Good Book it took God Seven days to make the Earth And He made the moon and stars And the sun out of gold But there's one part of the story That's very seldom told You see, He took a little cow And He made a little udder (moo) Squeezed a little milk And He made a little butter (ah) He laid out a little spread Then He broke a little bread Then the best idea He ever had Popped into His head Corn! Yes, we said corn Just as sure as the day that you were born In the evening, it's for supper Then it's grits in the morn No, it ain't our bread that's buttered No, it's corn We're here to tell you a fable A farm to fable Ooh! About a simple place time forgot Called Cobb County Now, I know When some of you think "small towns" You think gun-totin', rusted-truck hayseeds Who think liberal is how you pour your whisky And fluid belongs in your gas tank But I want you to open your minds and think Even smaller Somewhere north of south and south of north To a place where being from somewhere is who you are Filled with people no different than you or me Well More you Proud, simple people who, more than anything Love their corn They say it came from Mexico Some seven thousand years ago Somewhere between right now and dinosaurs. Roar Cut to the 1400s Christopher Columbus Brought syphilis and smallpox to the shore And took credit for Corn! I'm talking corn When it's popping up in rows it's just like Norman Rockwell Had a fresh new canvas of a technicolor morn It's Kentucky and it's Kansas Yeah, it's corn It grew everywhere In tall, proud rows Cornrows Uh-uh, mm-mm. Don't do that Okay It popped up on every property line Forming a huge corn wall that completely surrounded the town Because of that No one had ever left or come to Cobb County Oh, they knew of the outside world They just wanted no part of it The way history is written (history) Jumpin' to the first Thanksgiving (first Thanksgiving) The Indians brought something they called maize (Indians, ah! Maize!) Around eleven-thirty (eleven-thirty) The pilgrims stuffed the turkey (stuffed the turkey) Slipped into a tryptophanic haze With leftovers for days and days of Corn Yeah, I heard corn Got us through the Great Depression and the storm They turned it into alcohol Yeah, that's my favorite form It's mazola and it's ethanol, it's corn We were corn bred We were corn fed Out here we really feel like we were chosen (woo!) We love corn flakes We love corn cakes Don't know where we would be without that golden Corn (golden corn) And on this day Vows were written for a wedding that almost didn't happen Maybe love is like a dream A couple vows A couple rings It's a promise that you make That two hearts will never break Maybe love is like a song All at once you sing along Doesn't have to be that hard When it's written in the stars Maybe love is like a seed A little sun is all you need A little rain and so it goes It grows and grows in rows and rows from dust Maybe love just needs a little Sweet corn, street corn It's really hard to beat corn Hands or feet, no wrong way to eat corn It's a resource that's always renewable Bring it to a bris Or a wedding, or a funeral Cook it on the cob Or in a tortilla You can even make it an onomatopoeia Candy corn, kettle corn, put it in your mouth It's the same goin' in comin' out Woo! Sweet corn, street corn (oh) It's really hard to beat corn Hands or feet, no wrong way to eat corn (oh) It's a resource that's always renewable Bring it to a bris Or a wedding, or a funeral Cook it on the cob (oh) Or in a tortilla You can even make it an onomatopoeia (you! Make! Ah! P!) Candy corn, kettle corn, put it in your mouth (oh) It's the same goin' in comin' out Sweet corn, street corn It's really hard to beat corn Hands or feet, no wrong way to eat corn It's a resource that's always renewable Bring it to a bris God! It's got the juice! Sweet, street Hands, feet Cook it, pop it Baby, bris Ashes to ashes and dust into dust We give to the corn 'cause the corn gives to us Corn! A pile of corn It's our living It's our loving It's our corn (and when we are leavened) To Heaven We won't need to mourn Just as long as the streets are paved with corn When we get to Heaven We won't need to mourn Just as long as Those streets are paved with corn, corn Corn!