Marshmallow pillows I want to rest upon
Though I got more farming to do, the end
Of the season
It's hard to pull through.
Marshmallow meadow's I want to walk through
No more work
I'm tired
I'm wired on corn stew.
Ripped up, battered
By my farming hand's I'm tattered.
The fence hold's back the ladder
Where the little critter's come through.
Let them come,
That would be dumb
When my shotgun baby likes
To make holes in the sun.