It sounds nasty. Honestly, it is. If you’ve ever spent time in the Texas music scene, you’ve heard the stomp-and-clap rhythm of a song that celebrates one of the most unapologetically "grit-under-the-fingernails" roadside attractions in the Lone Star State. I’m talking about Ray Wylie Hubbard. More specifically, I'm talking about the snake farm song lyrics that have become a sort of unofficial anthem for anyone who likes their country music with a side of swamp water and irony.
It’s just "Snake Farm." That’s the title.
When Hubbard released the album Snake Farm back in 2006, he probably didn't realize he was creating a permanent earworm that would be covered by everyone from basement bands to Nashville stars. The song isn't just about reptiles. It’s about a man, a woman named Ramona, and a place on the side of the highway that just happens to be "pretty much nasty."
What’s Actually Happening in These Lyrics?
The song starts with a vibe. It's not a polished, high-production sound. It’s lean. It’s mean. The narrative follows a guy who is dating a woman named Ramona. Ramona works at the Snake Farm. This isn't a metaphor—it's based on the real Animal World & Snake Farm Zoo located off Interstate 35 in New Braunfels, Texas.
Hubbard’s lyrics are masterpieces of "show, don’t tell." He doesn't just say Ramona is tough; he tells us she works at a place where they keep snakes. He mentions the "eatin' of the mice." It’s visceral. The chorus is where the magic—and the humor—really happens.
"Snake Farm, sure sounds nasty. Snake Farm, it pretty much is."
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There is a brilliant simplicity here. Hubbard avoids the over-poetic tropes of modern Nashville songwriting. He uses colloquialisms like "kinda" and "sorta" to ground the song in a real conversation. He’s telling you a story over a beer. The guy in the song hates snakes. He’s terrified of them. But he loves Ramona. So, he goes to the Snake Farm. Love makes you do weird things, like hanging out near a "reptile house" that smells like swamp musk.
The Real-World Inspiration: New Braunfels, Texas
You can actually go there. You really can. For decades, the Snake Farm was a legendary roadside oddity. If you were driving between Austin and San Antonio, you couldn't miss the signs. It had a reputation for being a bit... rough around the edges. That's what Hubbard captured. He didn't write a jingle for them; he wrote an ode to the glorious grittiness of it.
The lyrics mention "Ramona." Now, is there a real Ramona? Hubbard has mentioned in interviews that the character is a bit of a composite, but the feeling of the person is real. He’s tapping into a specific archetype of the Texas woman who doesn't mind a bit of dirt and isn't afraid of a python.
Interestingly, the real Snake Farm underwent a massive renovation years ago. It’s now an accredited zoo with better facilities and a much more family-friendly atmosphere. But the song preserves that 1970s and 80s "shack by the highway" aesthetic. When people search for the snake farm song lyrics, they aren't looking for a brochure. They are looking for that specific, greasy, low-down feeling of a bygone era of Texas travel.
Breaking Down the "Grease" in the Songwriting
Ray Wylie Hubbard calls his music "grit n' groove." To understand why the lyrics work, you have to look at the rhythm of the words. He uses a lot of internal rhyme and repetitive structures that mimic a heartbeat or a slow walk.
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- The "Nasty" factor: He uses the word "nasty" not as an insult, but as a badge of honor.
- The contrast: The narrator’s fear of snakes vs. Ramona’s comfort with them.
- The mundane details: Mentioning the specific snack foods or the way the light hits the glass.
The song works because it is self-aware. It knows it's a bit ridiculous. Hubbard has this uncanny ability to write lyrics that feel like they were scribbled on a cocktail napkin at 2:00 AM, yet they are structurally perfect for the blues-rock genre. It’s a "shaggy dog story" put to music.
Why Do People Keep Singing It?
Cover versions. That's a huge part of it.
The song has been embraced by the "Texas Country" and "Red Dirt" scenes. It’s a staple at campfires and tailgates. Why? Because it’s easy to sing and it feels authentic. There is no pretension in a song about a snake farm. You can't sing these lyrics and act like you're better than anyone else.
Also, it's funny. We don't get enough humor in songwriting these days. Most songs are either "I love my truck" or "my heart is broken." Hubbard gives us: "I'm dating a girl who feeds rodents to cobras." That's a refreshing change of pace.
The snake farm song lyrics also touch on a universal truth: we often find ourselves in weird places because of the people we care about. Whether it’s a dusty reptile house or a boring office party, we endure the "nasty" for the sake of the "Ramona" in our lives.
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Key Lyric Highlights to Remember
- The Hook: The repetitive "Snake Farm... just sounds nasty" creates an instant mental image.
- The Persona: Hubbard’s delivery is gravelly. The lyrics require that voice. If you try to sing this with a "pop" voice, it fails.
- The Specificity: Mentioning the interstate and the physical location anchors the song in reality, which is a classic songwriting trick used by greats like Guy Clark or Townes Van Zandt.
The Legacy of the Snake
Hubbard is a "songwriter’s songwriter." He’s the guy who wrote "Up Against the Wall, Redneck Mother," which Jerry Jeff Walker made famous. He’s had a long career of being just slightly outside the mainstream. "Snake Farm" brought him a new generation of fans.
It’s a song that shouldn't work. On paper, it’s a weird anecdote about a roadside zoo. In practice, it’s a masterclass in tone. It’s about the atmosphere. It’s about the "vibe," as the kids say now.
When you look at the snake farm song lyrics today, you see a piece of Texas folklore. It has outgrown the physical location in New Braunfels. It’s now a state of mind. It represents the weird, the dusty, and the authentic parts of the South that haven't been paved over by Starbucks and luxury condos.
How to Appreciate the Song Like a Local
If you want to truly "get" the song, you need to do three things. First, listen to the original studio version to hear the crispness of the snare drum. Second, find a live version—Hubbard usually tells a five-minute story before the song even starts, and that story is usually as good as the song itself. Third, understand that when he says "it pretty much is," he’s speaking with affection.
Texas music is built on this kind of honesty. We like things that are a little bit broken and a little bit dirty.
Next Steps for the Inspired Listener
If you've got the lyrics down and you're ready to dive deeper into this style of "grit n' groove," start by exploring Ray Wylie Hubbard's later albums like A.L.O.T. (A Lot of Things) or The Ruffian's Misfortune. You should also check out the work of Hayes Carll or James McMurtry, who share that same knack for storytelling with a bite. If you ever find yourself on I-35, pull over at the Snake Farm. It’s much nicer now, but if you close your eyes and listen to the hiss of the oxygen tanks, you can still hear Ramona calling.