Walk away, turn off the news
and let this act be your retort.
Sing your home, and not the blues
as this is your Farm Report.
When comes sun, and when comes hail?
The marching throng will summon hell
that they in anger hope world's fail,
but I think that time will tell,
and that the corn will grow in rows,
and the golden wheat will wave,
and as our boredom with hate grows
we'll find the Farm Report will save
our great nation, keep it whole,
and thus save our collective soul.
Sylvia prefers cows to corn and wheat, as cows bring milk, and milk brings ice cream.
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