Since I was a boy,
on clear nights I
would lie out and I
would watch the Michigan moon, I.
And sure, `cause they lied still,
and friendly stars winking, they
would watch back, they
would admire me too, the moons.
Every year, I would lie less,
and be less of a boy,
and so too, the moons would not bother,
not care to see me either.
Until Wisconsin, when I saw a moon new.
And winking first, we, that moon knew,
would love, and wonder of my dough
and I of her cheese, and when we would be.
Though thinking of me boy,
to see one in new light,
am still a Michigan boy
so I the moon we will be someday knew.