There is a little Texas town, A little place called Gruene, And once the Germans settled there When naught but trees were seen. Back when the town was in its youth, The youths themselves did toil The ground was tilled around the hill And fruit poured forth from soil. Now Gruene is run by groovy teens, With ground to till no more. In boots and tiny shorts, or jeans, They run from store to store.
Comments
No posts