Verse I.
Now listen while I tell you bout a place I know,
Down in Tennessee where the tall corn grows.
Hidden from the world in a bunch of pines,
Where the moon s a little bashful, and it seldom shines.
Civilized people live there alright,
Ah, but they all go native on Saturday night.
Verse II.
Oh well the music is a fiddle and a cracked guitar,
They get their kicks from an old fruit jar.
They do the boogie to an old square dance,
The wood s are full of couples lookin for romance.
They struggle and they shuffle till broad daylight,
Yes they all go native on Saturday night.
Verse III.
When they really get together there s a lot of fun,
They all know the other fellow packs a gun.
Everybody does his best to act just right,
Cause there s gonna be a funeral if you start a fight.
Someone takes a Stetson and knocks out the light,
Yes they all go native on Saturday night.
(repete verse I.)
