Richard Rodgers


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Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweepin' down the plains,
Where the wavin' wheat,
Can sure smell sweet,
When the wind comes right behind the rain,

Oklahoma, every night my honey lamb and I,
Sit alone and talk,
And watch a hawk,
Makin' lazy circles in the sky,

We know we belong to the land
and the land we belong to is grand

And when we say, hey! a yippy-i-o-ey
We're only sayin' You're doin' fine Oklahoma,
Oklahoma, O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A,

Autor(es): STEINMAN, JIM

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Richard Rodgers en Septiembre