Just gather all around me and I'll tell you gals and gents
A story 'bout a Yankee boy who had more guts than sense
A sad and tragic story that I swear to y'all is true
By the soul of dear old mother and her bestest barbecue.
Well this Yank flew in one day with a job some fancy critter out
in New York City way told him was the best thing going.
Well, they called him William Robert,
But friends, nobody warned him that here in the big O K
We do things a little different.
Poor toad sucker.
Now William tried to fit right in with all us Okies here
He changed his name to Billy Bob
He changed to Lone Star Beer (yech!).
Well he bought his hat and pickup truck,
He bought his boots and vest,
And every Saturday morning he'd lawn worship like the rest.
You see, down here in Oklahoma we do things by our tradition
So come eight in the ayem every blessed weekend morning
You'd better be outside with your spreader and your mower and
your weed whacker and lots and lots of beer.
'Cause you've got to work and sweat 'til your lawn looks just like heaven
Kinda like old Oral Roberts put his hands down and yelled "Grow!"
And if'n you don't show up, or your yard looks kinda puny,
The neighbors soon figure out you're some kind of faggot prevert
And a stinkin' pinko Commie and a libertarian besides.
Now Billy Bob done did his best, yep, folks he really tried.
But dandelions kept popping up, and all his bluegrass died.
Old Billy Bob had never seen a lawn before, you see,
He'd always lived in condos where the landscape work comes free.
Well one morning as the blazing sun beat down upon his head
And Billy Bob was a-whacking weeds, his neighbor up and said,
"Hey boy, it looks to me like that there lawn's about to croak."
And that's when something deep inside poor Billy Bob's mind broke.
Well he hoisted up his weed whacker and he gave an awful yell
And he headed for his neighbor like some demon straight from hell.
Next thing you know that sucker'd gone and stripped him to the skin--
His clothes was all in little rags and Bill was off again.
He whacked the blue jeans off of every woman, man, and child.
He mowed them down like waves of wheat--he'd done gone purely wild
They called the cops, the sherrif and the entire National Guard
But nobody could catch him, though they all tried really hard.
"Well you see," the sheriff said to old Dan Rather on the scene,
"He may have been a ditz before, with a brain 'bout like a bean,
But now that he's gone psycho it's the great unwritten rule
That he's so smart he'll make a lawman look a pure dern fool."
Well, just about that time, old Billy Bob made his appearance
He jumped out of the bushes with a nasty evil grin.
His weed whacker was going nearly ninety miles per hour.
And he headed for the sheriff like a sow goes for the trough.
Next thing you come to see there's the Tulsa county sheriff
Standing there in front of God and CBS and who knows who
Wearing nothing but his boots
And the belt that held his pistol
And his TV tummy toner
And his best Smurf boxer shorts.
Well he vanished up into the hills still wearing that big grin
And no one knows where he's hid out, but they sure know where he's been.
'Cause now and then some hitchhiker comes running through the brush
Wearing nothing but his sneakers and a sunburn and a blush.