Brent Beamer

Always had the best homegrown

Grew it out on County Road 886

We'd sit and talk and listen to Neil Young

​

In the middle of a corn field 

Was the crop that kept them alive

Wasn't controlled by a banker, 

On Wall Street trying to make a dime

​

They kept the county stoned as hell

In 77' ooh that smell

A stranglehold on the county drug trade,

But all good things must come to an end

​

Barns full of old combines and old tractors

Twenty year old beer cans line the walls of the shed

And George Straight plays on an old radio on a bench

​

They didn't own enough land 

To compete with the corporations

So they started selling more green

The County got eyes in the sky in 93'

​

A Firebird with t-tops burned down the blacktop

They found him upside down still listening to ZZ Top

Red and blue lights shining on the trees

He learned a hard lesson, but he never gave up growing weed

​

​

​