Ya kin holler an ya can screem

ya kin pull out all yer hair.

Ya kin drive yerself reel kooky

until ya jes don’t care.

Yer life is driv’n ya krazy

yer not happy wit yer job.

Thar’s no time ta git lazy

an yer tired of the mob.

But onc’t yer in the garden

ya’ll find yer trubles fuw.

Fer ya’ll find it hard ta holler

or git into a stew.

Fer ta see the rabbits scurry

or spiders weeve a web,

or turtle’s who don’t wurry

while they hide thar little head.

With squirrels on a branch so high

chewing on food once buried,

while Momma birds go fly’n by

wit worms for food she’s carried.

So when yer in the garden

plant’n on yer knees,

take time ta look around

an look up toward the trees.

Give God praise for what he’s made

an know it’s all fer you.

Cause God is yer special gardener,

an in His garden, it’s yew that He grew.

Al Green ‘07