If i say bend over and pick up the wood..
is it..well sexting...
if i walk through your forest on my hands
and see things you knew i would, ..inside
and the rednecks leave Florida are we safe..
Revenue is way down,
the center of either world is running away and
rivers are floating neck deep next to shore..then..
i dream every night i died and became a redneck..
i recon i would jump in front of that train i used to
see every night if i was born looking the other way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem