On the banks of the ole Bandera Runs a barefoot child Takin' Sunday-go-to-meetin' shortcuts He's out across those open fields, Down those dusty drives The hills that wear blue bonnets, They look like a print dressing gown Thru the summer rains, that pur down like honey They help make the mushrooms grow And always make the B-man dance

Once we ran barefoot through those clovers so wet with dew Like wild Comanches' crazy horses on the loose Sometimes it feels like a song Sometimes it makes me feel like it's gone Now it all feels like a song You can hear a screen door slammin'. Hey let's run a foot race to the creek! Where you see clear down to the bottom, deeper Dependin' on where you stand, how you look, and what you want to see Monkey vines, swimmin' holes - weren't they always around the bend And that rope we used to swing on, now it just hangs tattered by the wind Down on the banks of the ole Bandera . . .      by Rodney Crowell

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