There are men in the yards Boys, really That teased me endlessly In school And now they are grown up Angular in their carhartts Corn fed Sun red From bailing too much hay A little extra money on a weekend They are clad in camo hats Soft denim Work clothes
When I knew them they were farm boys Who were never looking for more Than a corn fed Country princess A pair of cowgirl boots To take to bed And now theyβre driving fire trucks Tractors International harvesters
Their princesses Have fattened up Wide hips are good for children Easy enough to let yourself go then Cute clothes are for the rich city ******* Who still fit into a 2
And their kids A new generation of Freeburgians Are drawing with chalk in the streets And the older ones Are riding bikes Long outgrown Scraping their knees Getting stung by bees Shoplifting from the motomart
They will grow up normal Grow into their work clothes Keep that small town pride alive Keep the corn fields, keep the rye Keep the beans and wheat and barley Growing high
And I keep running right on by I never knew these people Though I wear boots too And my hands are calloused From working with the soil In the distance I can see the steeple And my car Parked for a quick getaway Another day Avoiding this place