We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Lyrics here. My Godmother, who was from Chattanooga and a transplant up to Yankee-land, used to love to play the piano (banging chords - what they used to call "whorehouse pianny") and sing this one with verve. I can hear her now. She was a piece of work, always with designer clothes and a big hat, and an accent that could melt butter.
the gregarious hermit
hats were key. had to keep the sun off your face to retain your paleness so people knew you didn't have to work out in the fields. probably a hard habit to break. good for your godmother that her accent didn't fade when she moved above the mason-dixon line. sounds like she kept her integrity all the way arouund.