Ron White Rolled Onto My Farm
Performed by Bale Harrison & The Texas Field Hands
Ron White Visited My Farm and… – Music and Lyrics by Alan Nafzger
Verse 1:
I was out in the field, just workin’ the land,
When I saw headlights rollin’ up like a one-man band.
It was Ron White in his truck, swervin’ side to side,
With a bottle in hand and that trademark pride.
He pulled up slow, engine sputtering in the dirt,
Waved out the window, grinning under his shirt.
Behind him came a trooper, lights flashing bright,
Looked like ol’ Ron was in for a hell of a night.
Chorus:
Ron White rolled onto my farm, a bottle in tow,
The trooper wasn’t far behind, moving kinda slow.
In the fields, we plant seeds, but he was planting trouble,
And on this farm, you can’t harvest whiskey by the double.
He was driving like a tractor stuck in the mud,
While I watched him get pulled over, boots thick with crud.
Ron White on my farm, yeah, it’s quite the sight,
But just like a drunk plow, nothing turned out right.
Verse 2:
The trooper got out, tipped his hat to me,
Said, “You seen this man before? He ain’t supposed to be free.”
Ron staggered out, boots heavy with booze,
Mumbling something ‘bout cows and Texan shoes.
He leaned on the fence like he was fixing to fall,
Said, “These rows are crooked, but who’s counting at all?”
I laughed to myself, ‘cause farming’s straight and true,
But ol’ Ron was as bent as a fence post askew.
Chorus:
Ron White rolled onto my farm, steering off track,
The state trooper followed, didn’t cut him any slack.
In the fields, we know straight rows lead to the crop,
But Ron plowed sideways, and it was hard to stop.
He was driving like a combine after too much shine,
And now the lawman’s here, drawing a fine line.
Ron White on my farm, what a scene to see,
But farming and drunk driving ain’t how it’s supposed to be.
Bridge:
Ron said, “I’m just like a plow, diggin’ in deep,
But instead of corn, I sow trouble in my sleep.”
The trooper shook his head, said, “Son, you’re a mess,
Now get in the car, we’ve got laws to address.”
I thought to myself, farming’s hard enough on its own,
Without a whiskey-drunk cowboy in a crooked zone.
Chorus:
Ron White rolled onto my farm, a little too fast,
The state trooper behind him wasn’t giving a pass.
On the farm, you steer straight, or the land don’t forgive,
But Ron was sowing chaos, like a whiskey-fed sieve.
He was driving like a tractor with a busted wheel,
He’s may be off to face charges, no chance to appeal.
Ron White on my farm, and the crops won’t care,
But when you’re drinkin’ and drivin’, the fields get bare.
Outro:
As the trooper cuffed Ron, I stepped into the light,
Said, “Hold on, officer, this just ain’t right.
It’s harvest season, and the crop’s gotta come in,
And Ron’s here to work, not just for the gin.”
I looked the trooper in the eye, “Out here, we all know,
When it’s time to harvest, we can’t move slow.”
“Sure, Ron’s a mess, but I need all the hands,
To pull in the corn and work this land.
He may be crooked like a busted wheel,
But give him a shot, we’ll make him real.”
The trooper paused, thought it over, then smiled,
Said, “Alright, farmer, but keep him in line for a while.”
I poured Ron some coffee, handed him a plow,
Told the trooper, “He’ll be working from sunrise ‘til now.”
The trooper tipped his hat, gave Ron a last glance,
Said, “Alright, cowboy, this is your last chance.”
Ron grinned and grabbed a rake, gave a shaky salute,
“Guess I’ll trade my whiskey for some farming boots.”
Ron White Rolled Up to My Farm
by Alan Nafzger (2014)
Ron White rolled up to my farm one day,
With a bottle in hand and a sideways sway.
The engine sputtered, his truck barely stopped,
As he stumbled out, my jaw nearly dropped.
“Got any whiskey?” he asked with a grin,
“Or maybe some cows that need reelin’ in?”
I laughed and said, “This ain’t your usual bar,
But you’ll find trouble if you keep up this par.”
A state trooper followed, lights flashing bright,
Shaking his head at Ron’s drunken plight.
“Sir,” he said, “you’re way off track,
But here on this farm, you’ll need more than Jack.”
I stepped in quick, “Officer, it’s harvest today,
And out here, we don’t throw good men away.
Ron’s a bit crooked, but we’ll set him right,
Let him stay, and we’ll work ‘til the night.”
The trooper paused, then tipped his hat,
“Alright, farmer, I’ll leave it at that.
But Ron, next time you better stay true,
Or it’s jail for you and that bottle too.”
Ron winked at me, said, “Guess I’m here to stay,
Let’s get to work, put the whiskey away.”
So we hitched the tractor, the barn doors swung wide,
And together we worked ‘til the sun hit the sky.
Originally posted 2012-09-12 08:20:31.