There's nothin' like listenin' to the fiddles play
While doin' the cornmeal waltz.
There's nothin' to keep you from driftin' away,
Doin' the cornmeal waltz.
Way out on Ranch Road 17 there's a dance hall in the live-oak trees,
Yellow lights strung up all around, so all the little kids can see.
Pickups are parked near to the road; the beer is so cold it might freeze.
Stars are all out, the band's in tune, and it smells like a barbecue breeze.
There's nothin' like listenin' to the fiddles play
While doin' the cornmeal waltz.
There's nothin' to keep you from driftin' away,
Doin' the cornmeal waltz.
Beat-up old Stetsons, beehive hair, belt buckles bumpin' in time.
There's little girls dancin' on their daddies' toes, spinnin' around on a dime.
Grandma and Grandpa are out on the floor, dancin' like they've lost their minds.
There's old maids and bachelors and sweethearts alike, all movin' in three-quarter time.
There's nothin' like listenin' to the fiddles play
While doin' the cornmeal waltz.
There's nothin' to keep you from driftin' away,
Just doin' the cornmeal waltz.