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rare vernacular - strapping fieldhands lyrics

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oh rare vernacular spoke by big red… (let it go,…)
they live in dung huts of straw beetle fame
they live in holy lands parched by the rain
their life per capita is never the same

strolling on avenues of humbuckler bums
diverted paddleboats on old muskingum
this too a brainy food that sleeps on your tongue
fumbling through underbrush as thick as your thumb

hurling a whirligig straight at the sun
the pearls on girly men melt in the sun
they chide the churlish tribe who glint in the gloom
why not the wanton ones who unfurl pontoons

- strapping fieldhands lyrics

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