Well, out there in the Flint Hills, northeast Kansas, the wind can cut clean through your
soul.
The midsummer heat, a little melts you right down to the pavement, but the beer around
here is always cold.
Well, they get up with the sunrise, there's no burning daylight, cattle to feed and hay
to mow.
They never turn their backs on a neighbor in need, I guess that's just the Midwestern
code.
Grain elevators make the country.
Skyline, little square towns spread out far and wide.
Gravel roads and cornfields, miles of rolling wheat.
Welcome to the Great Plains, welcome to the Great Plains, welcome to the home of the free.
Welcome to the home of the free.
They love their friends.
Friday night, high school football, Sunday church and catfish fry.
Nothing better than turning ground on a John Deere tractor beneath that big blue prairie
sky.
Grain elevators make the country.
Skyline, little square towns spread out far and wide.
Gravel roads and cornfields, miles of rolling wheat.
Welcome to the Great Plains, welcome to the Great Plains, welcome to the home of the free.
Smell the rain wet on the blacktop
Guess the next flicker of a lightning bug
Out on the front porch swing, sunsets sort of pop
And they build it all from the land they love
Grain elevators make the country skyline
Little square towns spread out far and wide
Gravel roads and cornfields, miles wide
Rollin' wheat
Welcome to the Great Plains
Welcome to the Great Plains
Welcome to the home of the free
Welcome to the home of the free
Welcome to the home of the free