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