Cornmeal Waltz

(альбом: My Favourite Picture Of You - 2013)

There's nothing like cornmeal on a dance-hall floor for dancing the night away,
Slipping and sliding, effortlessly gliding in the arms of my sweet Lillie Mae,
So I shined up my boots and ironed my shirt, and pulled on some new blue jeans.
Oh, I brushed off my hat, slicked back my hair; I'll beat all that she's ever seen.

There's nothing like listening to the fiddles play
While doing the cornmeal waltz.
There's nothing to keep you from drifting away,
Doing the cornmeal waltz.

Way out on Ranch Road 17 there's a dance hall in the live-oak trees,
Yellow lights strung up all around, so all the little kids can see.
Pickups are parked near to the road; the beer is so cold it might freeze.
Stars are all out, the band's in tune, and it smells like a barbecue breeze.

There's nothing like listening to the fiddles play
While doing the cornmeal waltz.
There's nothing to keep you from drifting away,
Doing the cornmeal waltz.

Beat-up old Stetsons, beehive hair, belt buckles bumping in time.
There's little girls dancing on their daddies' toes, spinning around on a dime.
Grandma and Grandpa are out on the floor, dancing like they've lost their minds.
There's old maids and bachelors and sweethearts alike, all moving in three-quarter time.

There's nothing like listening to the fiddles play
While doing the cornmeal waltz.
There's nothing to keep you from drifting away,
Just doing the cornmeal waltz.