Hart Hustle

Hart, Michigan, where the frostbite clings,

Small town grind, but we dream like kings.

Cornfields stretchin', under snow it sings,

Steeple to the sky, where the church bell rings.

Hart hustle, we rise through the storm,

Where the cold winds bite, but the fire is born.

Heart of Michigan, yeah it keeps us warm,

Small-town pride in our blood's the norm.

Dairy trucks roll and the apple crates stack,

Rust belt grind with that blue-collar knack.

Roots so deep, they’re hard to hack,

One light town, but we glow pitch black.

Steel-toe boots stompin’ Main Street lanes,

Snowplow symphony, spitting salt on chains.

Granny’s pie crust savin’ all our pains,

Hart might be small, but its soul remains.

Coastline whispers by the silver lake’s edge,

Fields of bounty keep us over the ledge.

Harvest time peaks, trees blush their pledge,

Roots and wings, two sides of our wedge.

Hart hustle, we rise through the storm,

Where the cold winds bite, but the fire is born.

Heart of Michigan, yeah it keeps us warm,

Small-town pride in our blood's the norm.