Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Your Politicians Are Lower Than The Slope Of My Forehead

I've got a problem with my head:
My forehead has low-slope.
Some say it makes me look inbred.
I think it makes me tope.

My knuckles are all scratched and bruised
From dragging on the ground.
By this my wart-hog is amused,
But not my trusty hound.

I shuffle when I walk around;
I stumble and I mope.
I often sleep right on the ground
And rarely wash with soap.

I love to feast on what I kill;
I roast it just a touch.
Of gathering I've had my fill;
I like that not so much.

But what I like the least of all
Are fellows from the East,
Who mock my brain and mock my drawl
And treat me like a beast.

I guess my breath and smell are strong,
And I’m as dumb as mud;
My daddy didn’t pass along
A drop of your blue blood.

But governors of my great state
Don’t run with prostitutes;
Our congressmen all play it straight,
And only pose in suits.

We mate for life around these parts:
One woman and one man.
It don’t take fancy graphs and charts
To see that’s nature’s plan.

So if you want to yuck about,
Then yuck about indeed;
But when your dirty laundry’s out,
Don’t mock my home or breed.

1 comment:

  1. Now that dear Bard is a message that is long over due.