Folk Art Masterpiece

My grandmother grew up in a two room shack

The last of seven children, used to dress in gunny sacks

She said that times were hard, family scattered near and far

Like seeds into the dirt or the dimmest set of stars

And there's preachers every Sunday, muscodines each fall

I'd like to die in Arkansas if I should die at all

You could call it alchemy, some ancient art of old:

Hillbillies with no money spun their garbage into gold

'Cause I swear a square dance saved my life one hot summer day

I swear I's bout to kill myself, I swear I's bound away

I swear I heard the voice of God between the caller's cries:

An Ozark fiddle tune and a pretty girl's brown eyes

And there's preachers every Sunday, muscodines each fall

I'd like to die in Arkansas if I should die at all

I thought that bein' poor would weigh heavy on my soul

But it's a little drunken happiness like this that makes me whole

And you say that anyone could make it, and I guess that's so

I guess I ain't Walt Whitman, I guess she ain't Van Gogh

You can't account for taste, but I know my north from south

And it's a goddamn folk art masterpiece when she opens up her mouth

And there's preachers every Sunday, muscodines each fall

I'd like to die in Arkansas if I should die at all

You could call it alchemy, some ancient art of old:

Hillbillies with no money spun their garbage into gold