|
There's nothin' like cornmeal on a dance-hall floor |
|
for dancin' the night away, |
|
Slippin' and slidin', effortlessly glidin' 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 nothin' like listenin' to the fiddles play |
|
While doin' the cornmeal waltz. |
|
There's nothin' to keep you from driftin' away, |
|
Doin' 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 nothin' like listenin' to the fiddles play |
|
While doin' the cornmeal waltz. |
|
There's nothin' to keep you from driftin' away, |
|
Doin' the cornmeal waltz. |
|
Beat-up old Stetsons, beehive hair, belt buckles bumpin' in time. |
|
There's little girls dancin' on their daddies' toes, |
|
spinnin' around on a dime. |
|
Grandma and Grandpa are out on the floor, |
|
dancin' like they've lost their minds. |
|
There's old maids and bachelors and sweethearts alike, |
|
all movin' in three-quarter time. |
|
There's nothin' like listenin' to the fiddles play |
|
While doin' the cornmeal waltz. |
|
There's nothin' to keep you from driftin' away, |
|
Just doin' the cornmeal waltz. |
