They ain’t from here, the old lady said,
As she pulled through the offerings
at the church rummage sale.
No wonder they don’t know
you ain’t supposed to do that.
She pushed her reading glasses up her nose
and tried to read the washed out tag on a denim jacket.
Reckon where they’re from? her friend mused,
turning over a shirt to check its size.
Out of state or just some other county?
Oh no, the old lady said, not that far,
just down the road you know,
up Johnson Holler way.
Well then, you should have known
Them folks up there are different.
They don’t know how to act.
They ain’t from here--
So what did they do?
This jacket ain’t no-count,
And look at the price they want fer it--
Do? What did they do?
Why, they put mustard on their hotdog!
Whoever heard of such a thing?
Well, what can you expect?
They ain’t from here, you know.
Reckon no one ever taught them any different.
Wonder what they’re asking for this shirt?
It’d make a right nice patch on the quilt I’m piecin’.