The piney woods smell sharp and clean,
With sap that sticks like glue,
The carpet of needles cushions steps,
Where wild things run through.
The woodpecker drums on old bark,
The deer step light and shy,
Piney woods of the deep south,
Is where the wild things lie.
CC0 License
This song is released under CC0 (Public Domain Dedication). You may use it for any purpose, including commercially.