In the sandhills of Nebraska stands a monument of wills
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In the sandhills of Nebraska stands a monument of wills
Where man has staked his claim to them blowin’, rollin’ hills
Where the buffalo once scattered in the bunch grass, belly deep,
A whiteface calf, contented, sucks his mama, half asleep.
But you cannot know the beauty or appreciate the past
Unless you know the reason cows could stay and man could last.
For humankind is greedy and the babies need to eat
So to the rancher-farmer fell the task of growin’ meat.
The fertile black dirt farmland runnin’ up and down the Platte
Got covered up with people, their driveways and their cat