You know, in the bayous of Louisiana – quelle beau pays – that’s what the Cajuns say.
And in New York’s Little Italy – que bella terra – that’s how they say it their way.
And in the beer halls of Milwaukee, you’ll hear the words wie schöne das Land.
And it’s que lindo país – that’s what you’ll hear them say along the border, down by the Rio Grande.
You know there’s a lot of ways to say it. And it’s a privilege to play it.
‘Cause a lot of good people earned it. And this is how I learned it…
My mom told me a long time ago they went to the US consulate in Kobe, Japan on July 4th. What she remembered was having Coca-Cola. At that time that was special and hard to get in Japan in the early 1950s.
My memories of the Fourth were of an airshow followed by fireworks over a bay. We could see it from our house. We lived up the hill from the water. (Is being a mile away considered beachfront?) One year a man in an experimental plane died in a crash.