Send me away to some Dixieland town,
to some one-bank, water-tower, small-time town,

with simple backwoods thinkers,
and boys playing hooky with sinkers.

Send me away from these weak city girls,
with their sleek plastic looks
and their chic, stylish curls.

Give me instead those natural ladies,
in hand-me-down calico skirts.

Give me the girls who brush their hair twice,
then frolic with dogs in the dirt.

I will always strive to impress
a woman in a home-made dress.

But I will never apply my modest ploys
to the wooing of ladies
who thrive on city joys
and the jive of city boys.