The hilly old farm in those Ozark hills,
Was so hilly, the water in the ponds would spill.
If cattle weren’t grazed, ’round one way then back,
Two legs would be shorter, they’d fall on thier back.

Biscuits and gravy, then fried eggs and ham,
Sorghum and pancakes, made breakfast just fine.
Something special was cornbread and beans,
There wasn’t a dime for those fancy dreams.

Water was carried from the spring down the trail,
Had to be done several times daily without fail.
Carried in a water bucket with a hand cutting bale,
We were often scared by a covey of quail.

There was a cellar just outside the house,
Weather protection for all of us, and a mouse.
It was a place to keep food really cool,
We had cold milk before going to school.

Newspapers as wallpaper was used front and back,
To dress up the house and cover the cracks.
Flour and water were mixed up for paste,
It stuck paper to walls, but had an awful taste.

April 3, 2012