This spare little ditty may be the most charming evocation of rural simplicity since Leiber and Stoller's ''Down Home Girl.'' Over a percolating groove, Badu offhandedly drops rhymes like ''I'm countrified/Everything I eat is fried.'' The net effect is as irresistible as a mess of ham hocks and collard greens simmering in a cast-iron pot. Well, almost.


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