RAND McNALLY MAP OF FLORIDA
© Jim Bickerstaff
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Now the armadillo'll scratch the sand
And poke his nose down underground
Stick it in just as deep as he can
And he stirs it all around
Somehow he manages to find a meal
But I don't know how he does.
He ain't got no Rand McNally map of Florida.

Now the dragon flies fly thick as rain
Out here where the sawgrass grows
And you know if you can stand the pain
He'll pick a deer fly right off your nose.
He always gets there right on time
But I don't know how he does.
He ain't got no Rand McNally map of Florida.

We go running down the interstate
Round the clock--we're running late
It's a raging river of rayban shades
From Tallahassee to the Everglades,
Bumper to bumper, ditch to ditch
And every one but me's a son of ____
And we've all got Rand McNally maps of Florida.

You know the 'possum folks, kinda tells it all.
His brain ain't wide and it ain't too tall.
Compared to most folks it's kind of small
But still he muddles through,
'Cause he don't litter the road with McDonald's trash,
He don't snort coke and he don't burn gas.
He don't hate 'cause he can't figure
He don't pull knives and he don't pull triggers
He don't smoke and he don't cuss
And if he don't get run over by one of us
He don't need no Rand McNally map of Florida.

We go running down the interstate . . . .

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