“A flyover state,
Nothing but fields” they say,
“All they have are cows,
Those cheeseheads got no clue.”
Let me tell you something many do not understand,
We may have more grass
Than cement and asphalt,
That’s not a problem that needs fixing,
We enjoy the hustle and bustle of Milwaukee streets,
We love the wild atmosphere of Badger game day,
This is all true,
But our true Sconnie pride isn’t found in these places,
You’ll find it in the wide open spaces and fresh country air,
The children playing in the streets
Not worried about traffic,
The tractor driver holding up a line of cars on a back road,
The fisherman sitting on the dock every weekend,
No one to accompany him,
Just him and the setting sun,
The bleachers bowing underneath jumping fans on a Friday night,
Small town boys feeling like pros under bright stadium lights,
Bonfires with friends,
And cookouts every weekend,
A tight knit community,
A family brought together not by blood,
But by the place we live
And the people within it,
Our home,
With the happiest cows
And even happier people.