Country music is not without its fine verse:
Pardon me, you left your tears on the jukebox/And I think they got mixed up with mine. --George Strait
Now you'll think I'm crazy/But I know it's true:/Angels don't fly./They just walk out on you. --George Jones
We were poor, but we had love/That's the one thing Daddy made sure of. --Loretta Lynn
This is great stuff, but then as a paid-up member of the Literary Snobs Society, I will insist on the following: You can't sing or dance to Shakespeare, Keats, or Sylvia Plath, but they make you think more, and better, than do Strait, Jones, and Lynn. This comes from a snob who really, really loves country music. It's possible to adore Hank Williams and William Blake at the same time.
