A Farmer from Nebraska stood at the Gates Pearly,
His age-old face all wrinkled and old;

"What hast thou done," said Peter Saint
"To gain entry to the fold?"

"I've been a Nebraska family farmer, sir,
I have farmed corn-ears many a year."

Then slowly he moved his hand across his cheek
And wiped away a tear.

The Gates Pearly swung open wide,
Peter Saint rang the bell;

"Come in, old man, you're welcome here,
You've already been through hell."