A cou ple guys in first class on a flight from New York to Los An ge les, kind a mak in’ small talk, kill in’ time, flirt in’ with the flight at tend ants thir ty thou sand feet a bove

could be O kla ho ma.

Just a bunch of square corn fields and wheat farms.

Man, it all looks the same, miles and miles of back roads and high ways con nect in’ lit tle towns with fun ny names.

Who’d wan na live down there in the mid dle of no where?

They’ve nev er (Em)drove through In di an a,

met the man who plowed that earth, plant ed that seed, bust ed his ass for you and me or caught a (Em)har vest moon in Kan sas.

They’d un der stand (D)why God made those fly o ver states.

I bet that mile long San ta Fe freight train en gi neer’s seen it all, just like that flat bed cow boy stack in’ U.

S.

steel on a three day haul, roads and rails un der their feet.

Yeah, that sounds like a (D)first class seat on the (Em)plains of O kla ho ma,

with a wind shield sun set in your eyes, like a (D)wa ter col ored paint ed (B7)sky.

You’ll think heav en’s doors have o pened.

You’ll un der stand (D)why God made those fly o ver states.

Take a (Em)ride a cross the bad lands,

(G)feel that free dom on your face, (D)breathe in all that o pen space.

And meet a (Em)girl from Am a ril (C)lo;

you’ll un der stand (D)why God made, you might e ven wan na plant your stakes in those fly o ver states.

Have you ev er (Em)been through In di an a,

on the (Em)plains of O kla ho ma?

Take a ride.