How is it that the British Isles
Are all covered in grass
They were forest for the longest time
Guess that’s what 3000 years of sheep will do

Here in Georgia we have the worst soil
Sun-baked clay when the trees came down
Suburbanites and golf courses spend a million bucks
To raise chickweed dandelions and wild strawberries

At least you can eat the dandies and the strawbs
But that’s hardly worth poisoning the river
All because English lords had rolled-flat lawns
Tennis croquet and the manor house unobscured

The bible says all flesh is as grass
Or so to say it passes
But in Britain the grass never goes away
From the canal bank or the amphitheatre

In Georgia the grass never gets started
Except as exploitation of desire
I hope everybody thinks I’m rich
I wouldn’t want to be the oddball of the subdivision