Buttermilk not Buffalo

She likes buttermilk chicken not buffalo 

That southern gal I miss her so

I’m way up north, can barely cope

She’s in the sun I’m in the snow 

She likes shrimp and grits not hot poutine 

When I’m away I get so mean

It’s grey up here it’s all I’ve seen

I miss my little butter bean

She likes fried catfish not salted cod

And okra more than tapenade 

The northern folk just talk so odd

They call streets up here a promenade 

Take me back down south 

Get me outta this place

I miss the words from her mouth 

And the smile on her face

We’ll hop in my truck maybe fix my tire

And we’ll go settin’ the woods on fire

She’ll play fiddle, I’ll play guitar 

Then all my dreams won’t seem so far

She likes warm biscuits not bagel lox

She rides with me when I hunt fox

She’s barefoot there while I’m in socks

She’s more contagious than the chicken pox

She likes crawdad boils and fishing holes

And taters with her dinner rolls

My hearts on fire like burnin’ coals

For my southern gal from Muscle Shoals 

She wears overalls not long underwear 

She likes honeysuckle and the county fair

She’s the firefly in my southern air

Together we make quite a pair

Take me back down south 

Get me outta this place

I miss the words from her mouth 

And the smile on her face

We’ll hop in my truck maybe fix my tire

And we’ll go settin’ the woods on fire

She’ll play fiddle, I’ll play guitar 

Then all my dreams won’t seem so far

By Royce Waxenfelter 

4/24/21