Come all you Missouri gals, and listen to my noise. Never you marry an Arkansas boy. If you do, I’ll tell you what it’ll be: Cold cornbread, molasses, and sassafras tea. 
When you go a-courting, I’ll tell you how to dress: A buckskin hunting shirt, and this is the best: An old flop hat with more brim than crown, An old pair of shoes with the heels run down. 
The first thing he does whenever he goes in, He takes a chew of tobacco and he slobbers on his chin. The first thing he says whenever he sits down, "Madam, ain’t your johnny-cake a-baking too brown?" 
They milk a little brindle cow and sling it in a gourd. They put it in a corner and cover with a board. Some gets little and some gets none, And this is the way that the Arkansas is run. 
An old board roof and a puncheon floor, And old pole bedstead, and oak-board door. Sleeping on the slats with a handful of straw, Trying to get along with my mother-in-law. 
An old blind mule and an old milk cow, A razorback hog and a bull-tongue plow. He had his poke salad and his sassafras tea, But the Arkansas Sheik is a mystery to me. 
Now I’ve sung you all my song and I guess you’re glad it’s through. The Arkansas Sheik is a-feeling kind of blue. He got drunk and he took him to town, Cause the Arkansas girls turned his damper down. 
file from: www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
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