Bubblegum popping,
accent drawling.
Tobacco chewing,
sidewalk spitting.
Rusty pickup trucks
mangy mutts in the back
shotgun in the rack.
Ignorant sneer,
Gap-toothed leer.
Dirty hands and foul mouth,
Dear God, do I hate the South!
And then . . .
Southern girl, means no harm,
Gentle, polite, full of charm.
Voice soft and low,
Southern speaks slow.
Cut-off shorts, pony-tailed hair
long legs and painted toes
laughing like she knows.
Now she takes my arm,
she’s sweet and warm.
Starry eyes and full-lipped mouth,
Oh Lord, I’m falling for the South!
Now . . .
My Yankee self with a Southern belle?
Guess the North can go to Hell.
Northern girls are too uptight,
here the South’s treating me right.
Life slowed down so we can enjoy
barbecue and sweet iced tea
just my honey and me.
What was that? Did I say “Ya’ll”?
I’m turning Southern after all.
Shocked, staring at my traitor mouth,
“Thank you, God, for I love the South!”
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