The Swamps of Home

I come from the land of the foggy, foggy dew,
where walking through the meadow in the morning
is like walking through glue.
The swamps of home are brushed with green and gold
at break of day.
(At break of day.)
The swamps of home are lovely to behold
from far away.
(From far away.)
In my soul is the beauty of the bog,
in my memory, the magic of the mud.
I know that blood is thicker than water,
but the swamps of home are thicker than blood! (Blood!)
Where'er I roam, my heart grows dank and cold.
My face grows gray.
When shadows fall, and I hear the call
of the swamps of home.
I hear them calling me now,
calling me back!
Calling me: "Winnifred, Winnifred, Winnifred, Winnifred, who do you think you are?
Girl of the swamp, (Winnifred, Winnifred)
you have gone too far! (Winnifred, Winnifred)
Maid of the marshland, give up the struggle!
Listen to the voice of the swamp: Gluggle uggle uggle! (Gluggle uggle uggle!)"
Where'er I roam, the whips of fate may smart,
but deep down in my heart,
one thought will abide
and will ne'er be forgotten:
though I search far and wide,
there is no land as rotten
(rotten rotten rotten rotten rotten rotten rotten rotten)
as the swamps of home!
(The swamps of home!)