The King of Western Swing
©1994, 2015 Douglas S. Benson

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When passing through Turkey you’ll spy the white tower
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A penescent rocket, capped with a vi-o-leen
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A graven reminder will tell you the story
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Of the life of the King of Western Swing
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You’ll find his museum in a room in the high school
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Halls lined with pictures, the students long fled
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Everyone flathead, inbred and corn-fed
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All of them blanco and most of ‘em dead
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Winona, class of '49, she was a hottie
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Billy Bob, back in '46, he was a hunk
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They must have been breeders, 'cause today the town’s normal
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A little too white though, and far too much junk
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If you’re pale-faced and square dance, and if you can yodel
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And your truck has a rifle that’s not just for show
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Yippee tie one on for a turkey-trot side trip
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They need some new breeders; you might as well go
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The museum's often locked, the school long abandoned
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Not much to see but the tin vi-o-leen
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A scratchy record of the town’s single glory
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As the home of the King of Western Swing