O come, let us visit the country;
Leave civilization go hang.
Knee-deep in clover, We’ll really take over
With the rest of the citified gang.
We ‘ll picnic all over the county;
We’ll rush in where angels won’t tread.
The pretty landscape we will artfully drape
With eggshells and napkins and bread.
We’ll fish where it’s posted “No Fishing.”
We’ll take along rifle and dog,
For there are the chickens which run like the dickens,
Or, if your’re a poor shot, a hog.
Let’s go, for there’s fun in the country,
Whatever the season or time,
With pears, apples, grapes in all sizes and shapes,
And furlongs of fences to climb.
So off for the Wide Open Spaces;
Back out the jalopy and load.
NO, NOT A FLAT TIRE!! nothing raises my ire
Like the things some guys leave in the road.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, June 16, 1953
