She's a corn-fed Indiana girl But she's mama to me. She was born, bread, raised among the hicks But she's my bride to be. Some folks say she hasn't any style But her ways have always made me smile. She's so bashful, she's so shy, Hides every Tuesday when the train goes by. She likes her corn-bread Indiana style When it's done to a "T", Paints the barn red, Indiana style So it won't be hard to see. She wears ribbons on her hair But there's quite a bit of mama showin' here and there. She's a corn-fed Indiana girl But she's mama to me.
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