I like to play with your belly button
'Cause it makes me giggle and laugh
I'll let you play with my bellybutton
I bet it makes you giggle and laugh
Exactly as it does with me
It makes me laugh hysterically
I know it might seem rather silly
But I love to do it *****-nilly.

Sometimes I like to blow on your belly
And make that almost obscene sound
It's worth it to hear you laugh, really
Then both of us roll around on the ground.
We laugh and play like a couple of kids
And make no excuses for silly things we did.
Others make love your way and we ours.
We tickle and blubber on each other
And have our kind of fun for hours.

I really like the way you wrinkle your nose
It makes me laugh hard and not for nothing
It tickles me a lot that you wiggle your toes
When you let me play with your belly button.
I'm very happy to be able to testify
Some things in life are meant just for fun.
Belly button tomfoolery, I promise
Is one of the very best kinds of fun.

Why aren't you ashamed
Of yourself, your friends
Of anyone around you
That chooses to pretend
That some people are
Somehow lesser beings?
How can you all sleep
With that kind of feeling?

Did somebody close to you
Get inside of your mind
And coach you every day
To be deaf mute and blind
To the beauty of people
And all the good they do
If they were created
A bit different than you?

Did some crazy crook
On some show on teevee
Tell you it will be fine
If you hate them and me
Because we demand
The right to just be?
Who has mistrained you
To despise equality?

If the people around you
Hear such talk and approve
Why did you not decide
To get up and move?
Instead you have chosen
To point fingers and blame
People who are innocent
Why aren't you ashamed?

They’s times when I
Jess cain’t say it good
And times when I am
Jess plain amazing;
Then teachers and snobs
Seem to all agree and
Subject whut I say to
Harsh degrees of hazing.

It seems like they ain’t never
Said the wrong word before
Whatever, they jess don’t
Seem to put me on ignore
And move to importanter things
Than grammarical stuff;
As fer me, I’m jess turnin’ them off
‘Cause I have had me enough.

I only had me an education
Up to the eleventh grade or so
A whole buncht of that silly stuff
I got told  but I still don’t know.
My dad and my mom too
They got taught just like me.
And I talk good enough for them.
Change my perfectly acceptable talk?
Really now, the chances are slim.

We say ain’t and cain’t and acrost
And other such acceptable words.
And some of the more ‘proper’ things
Ain’t nothin’ but jess plain absurd.
Like widdershins and tatterdemalion,
Sequipedalian, octogenarian as well.
If I’m expected to talk like that
Y’all can just go straight to hell.

My country does not believe in equality.
It buys excuses for elitism and misogyny.
It covers up its greed and its brutality
And makes up ugly labels for decency.

My country sings its songs about freedom
But often denies it to those who need some.
It celebrates our heritage with beer and ***
And marches to the beat of a fascist drum.

My country was founded by nice words
Some of the finest man has ever heard.
Then shows the intelligence of a cattle herd;
And the social conscience of rotted bean curd.

My country labors under some illusions
That contribute to a national delusion
That fame will ultimately cure all contusions
And eradicate the effects of collusion.

My country thinks pretty people are sacrosanct
So, they let the beautiful load up their piggy bank.
We see reverence for the most egregious crank,
And have many of our countrymen to thank.

My country isn’t very good at followup.
It adopted the behavior of an untrained pup.
As long as it has its favorite pablum to sup
It will drink any poison that’s in their cup.

My country is this way, has been for too long
And if you disagree with the words of my song
Write your own treatise to try to prove me wrong.
For now I will keep on banging this protest gong.

Why do I see angels
That no one else can see?
They look like people
Just like you and like me.
They are everywhere
I have ever chanced to go.
They work their magic secretly
So nobody else can know.

I see them helping people
With subtle acts of kindness
And don’t seem to suffer from
What is a common blindness.
They don’t look for rewards
Or the sound of public applause.
They share with generosity
And quietly work at their cause.

They don’t have wings
But they are angels nonetheless.
They fit the titled perfectly.
We really don’t have to guess.
I’m beginning to think
Maybe I should not even try
To figure this one out
For me to understand why.

Why do I see angels
That no one else can see?
They look like people
Just like you and like me.
They are everywhere
I have ever chanced to go.
They work their magic secretly
So nobody else can know.

You can't save a loser
They have to save themselves.
No matter how you love them
You can’t breathe for someone else.
You can’t pay their emotional bills
With the love stored in your heart.
You can’t be with them 24/7
So it’s best for you to start
Waking to reality’s demands
And wash your hands
Of this self-destructive fantasy.
Soon, even they will understand.

And if they don’t see wisdom
In what you are trying to do
Let them go on and ruin their life
But it won’t be because of you.
Maybe you think it is too late
Because you spoiled them already,
So now they need your guiding hand
To keep their courses steady.

If you’re strong enough to realize
You’re not helping them a bit
You can gather enough love
And strength enough to quit
Babying someone who today
Is no longer just a little child.
Let them find their own rock bottom
At the risk of being totally wild.
It’s really the only thing to do.
So, if you are the wife, the friend;
Sister, father, brother or mother,
You will find you have the time
For you and the loser to recover.

I sleep in my cardboard cottage
That is my current job.
I keep it neat and clean as I can
I am not a slob.
I have my own place staked out
Everyone knows it’s mine.
It keeps the wind off as I doze.
It isn’t perfect but it’s fine.
Part of my job these days is easy;
I set out a cup and sing.
It doesn’t make me a million
But it is something.

When the weather warrants it
I sleep in the park
In the bright warm sunshine;
Stay awake in the dark.
It seems the citizens and cops
All leave me alone
Even though they still talk to me
With condescending tone,
Tsking at my laziness in general
Give the charity buck
Or maybe a quarter when they see
Since I’m down on my luck.

There’s this guy Hay Soose
But he spells it Jesus.
He could spell it that way
If he so pleases
But that don’t keep him dry
Whenever it rains
And it doesn’t stave most of the
Deep arthritic pains
From sleeping under cardboard
As his only roof.
Watch him shiver in winter if
You want some proof.

People have gotten to know me
As I’m here every day.
Some of the even come by with
Nice words to say.
And, I am used to the noise here;
The horns and the noise
Of the workaday world of these folks;
These grownup girls and boys.
Some tell me to go find some work,
I don’t get mad and shout.
I understand they have some hostilities
They have yet to work out.

Some of my neighbors here in cardboard
Dwell here because they
Can’t seem to work life out for themselves
In any other way.
People fire them from any employment
Because they act weird.
Some refuse to bathe or maybe it is
They refuse to cut their beard.
As for me I have had enough of it all;
The rattle and the hum.
I know society has a lot to offer but
I already had some.

I wish I had the money
To buy myself a yacht.
I wouldn’t spend it that way
But would love what I bought.
I’d have a huge party
With every friend I know
And let it go on and on
For about a week or so.

And, gifts to everybody
Who was ever kind to me.
Just something thoughtful
To give them gratefully.
I’d pick things out carefully
And wrap them up nice
And in some cases I’m sure
I’d do it at least twice.

I’d rent a fancy house
That overlooked the beach
With kayaks and hammocks
All within everyone’s reach.
And I would hire a caterer
To make delicious foods
So nobody would hunger
No matter what their mood.

And I would hire musicians
To play on regular intervals.
Maybe local songwriters
And super talented minstrels.
And I would wear my finest
Most beautiful things I’ve got.
That’s what I would do if
I could buy myself a yacht.

I’ve never been good
At hiding emotions I feel.
I’m not Superman
And Superman isn’t real!

I’m not Superman
And you’re not Lois Lane
We’re not invulnerable
And insensitive to pain.
I can’t read minds
Or see through walls.
And I really can’t fly,
I’m not super at all.

I’ve never been good
At hiding emotions I feel.
I’m not Superman
And Superman isn’t real!

When looking for flattery
It does no good to fish.
I’m not a bottle genie
That grants every wish.
I do the best I can
To give you want you ask
But if I fail, it might not be
A very reasonable task.

I’ve never been good
At hiding emotions I feel.
I’m not Superman
And Superman isn’t real!

So names will not hurt me
But sticks and stones will.
Maybe I’m not the guy
That perfectly fits the bill.
Maybe I should let you
Permit yourself to go free
And the same time you
Would then release me

I’ve never been good
At hiding emotions I feel.
I’m not Superman
And Superman isn’t real!

You can talk about Jesus
And be instantly heard.
You can call him your Savior
And not mean a word.
You can shout your hosannas
To the people on your street
And few will suspect you
As having pure clay feet.

Holy, holy, Holey Moley,
Things have turned for the worse.
Hiding behind Jesus
Gives our land a ride in a hearse.

When you talk about Jesus
Please be true to the words.
Read what he has said
And not what you heard.
If you read the Holy Bible
And find reason to hate
You’ve been led astray
And it’s not too late.

Holy, holy, Holey Moley,
Things have turned for the worse.
Hiding behind Jesus
Gives our land a ride in a hearse.

So far we’ve noticed
The words that bigots use
Are not from Christians,
But are textual abuse
In that they are from before
Man learned to write
So why are bigots so sure
They got everything right?

Holy, holy, Holey Moley,
Things have turned for the worse.
Hiding behind Jesus
Gives our land a ride in a hearse.

Mom would say, “Your dad has friends,
Black friends on the police force, of course
We don’t set down to eat with them.
It wasn’t safe to say to her, “Ahem.
Did you hear what you just said?”
She’d swing one upside my head
And it would be like a garden gate
But with the weight of her stout arm
And the harm she could do with that
Sat me back down on my bony ****.

I wrote “black friends” but that is because
That was not the word she used, applause,
Applause. Clean it up for the publishment,
Don’t cause a resentment for the wrong reason.
It is never the season because I am white
And it’s never right for me to say the N word,
Haven’t you heard? They can, and I can’t
Even in a rant that describes the horror
Of living in a half right, all white world.

My fingers permanently curled into fists
So hard to resist saying to my parents
“You daren’t speak like that to the preacher
Or half of my teachers because they’d see
Just how deeply grained racism can be."
And both sides would take it out on me,
Just a kid, so I agree to hide what you did.
I agree to pretend you aren’t part of the problem;
Another prejudiced person, training me
Explaining to me how life really is right now.

You saying to me “Don’t put your lips there
On that fountain. Some N person might have, too!
And that made sense to you. Perfect sense.
You were that dense, that unquestioning, too.
Ready to do what your white society dictates
And making me into a swinging garden gate
If I don’t toe the line, and hold my confusion
While I pray for no contusion from the slap.
I hold hands in my lap and act submissive.
And I act like I accept all this as right
Because I am white. But, even though I won’t
Say a word at ten years of age, I don’t.

You didn’t teach me
How to succeed without ambition
How to live without approval
How to survive in this condition
How to hold my head up high
How to run when I could barely walk
How to value the me others hate
How to survive all the painful talk.

You didn’t teach me
How to keep my heart healthy and whole
How to tell the truth hidden in lies
How to find the spark inside my soul
How to be proud listening to taunts
How to look upon hatred as sickness
How to sing songs of praise of others
How to selflessly, and lovingly bear witness.

You didn’t teach me
How to value the people who love me as me
How to enjoy people of a different color
How to appreciate all the different nationalities
How to bounce back from the blows of life
How to learn from the work any that I do
How to love my life and cherish all of it,
Because loving me never came from you.

Congressmen, police and ministers
All can be particularly sinister
When they take it upon themselves
To think of us as shoemakers elves
Fairytale beings who then madly
Exist only to work for them gladly;
Drudges to work for them out of sight,
Creatures that give in without a fight.

A sense of privilege causes this.
As fate is always rather hit and miss
It’s not granted by common sense,
More like a caprice of something dense;
A dark deity that is impressed by wealth
Without regard to someone’s right or health.
And the scary people the malady infests
Seems unaware of the evil it ingests.

Limelight and spotlights are the energy
That often drives their ***** perfidy.
But just as often, these fools don’t care
Who knows of their arts, no need to share.
They while away at greed and perdition
And certainly need anybody’s permission.
They only live to gobble and acquire
And never need anyone call them ‘sire’.

The most frightful of these lustful ones
Are those who ply their will with guns.
They decide the good from enemies
And few seem good to these entities.
They only plot their murderous plans
Without regard to the rights of man.
If you get in their way, you are foe.
That is as far as their thinking goes.

For that is the point here, after all.
These creatures ignore propriety’s call.
And the same with society, it is true.
Those needs, for them, will not do.
They work sorcery behind the scenes
And create acts that are truly obscene.
It matters not what is wrong or right
They are ever-vigilant, day and night.

Mama didn’t know
Our Daddy could dance.
He kept it a secret
In the name of romance.
We knew he could sing,
He did it every day
How could we know
He could dance that way?

Go on and dance, Daddy dance!
Who knew he had rhythm?
Daddy had him some moves
And Mama go dance with him!

Daddy loved his music
But didn’t like to go out.
Mama loved to go to dances
But she never liked to pout.
She just suffered in silence
And danced in all alone
In the kitchen by herself
In her own jazzy zone.

Go on and dance, Daddy dance!
Who knew he had rhythm?
Daddy had him some moves
And Mama go dance with him!

The radio would come on
And Mama began to wiggle.
Dad sat and read his paper
But, he would quietly giggle.
Mama would take his hand
Try to get him to get up.
He’d just shake his head no
Go back to his coffee cup.

Go on and dance, Daddy dance!
Who knew he had rhythm?
Daddy had him some moves
And Mama go dance with him!

Then their anniversary came
And we could tell Daddy didn’t
Have any idea what he
Could give her as a present.
So, he got them all dressed
And took her out to on the town
And surprised our Mama good
When he boogied her around.

Go on and dance, Daddy dance!
Who knew he had rhythm?
Daddy had him some moves
And Mama go dance with him!

Poor old Clarence Posey
His neighbors are so nosey.
They peek in through
His windows and
They catch him wearing hosie.

They don’t come in
They just stay out
They stay judgmental;
They scoff and pout.
They have no pleasant
Words to say.
They run through all
Synonyms of gay.

Pity Clarence Posey
His neighbors are too nosey.
No matter which
Fabric he likes to wear
They dislike what he chosie.

It isn’t like
They dress themselves
Some way that could
Be seen as flattering.
They’ve guts and butts
Like barnyard stock.
To see them naked
Would be a shock.

Poor old Clarence Posey
His neighbors are all nosey.
They’re nothing but
Awful aunties
That catch him wearing *******.

When it’s spring on the ocean
The wind is clear and warm
And the campers pull in
To wait out summer storms.
And one of them spends time
As he spends his time in Egypt
Making flutes of bamboo
To find his living in it.

He seems to be immune
To states and times and towns.
Whatever is his story
He's glad he's still around.
And when the campers waken
To sniff the fog of dawn
The ocean will still be there
But the flute man will be gone.

Gone to seek his being
Where no man is alone
Where no one rubs his shoulder
And each soul is his own.
You know he's glad he met you
But he is moving on.
He leaves the waves behind him
But the flute man has moved on.

You may see a vacant lot
Where a building has burned down
But I see a garden spot
With flowers growing all around.
And maybe a bench to sit
A take a while to appreciate
What can be done by people
With loving energy to dedicate.

You may see an empty field
Overrun by neglect and weeds.
But, I see a garden here,
And care is really all it needs.
Maybe some cutting back
And of course, a lot of water.
But time and compassion
Is what will ultimately matter.

Realtors may calculate
The money to make from this land
But, I see a garden
That needs some helping hands.
Maybe some cows can graze
Or a pretty little babbling brook.
A place of nature’s bounty
Like out of a wonderful storybook.

Do we need one more store,
Or one more fast food restaurant?
Maybe some serenity is
What people of the world really want.
Some may see a patch of dirt
And not much more than fallow earth.
As for me, I see a garden.
A bit of paradise right here on earth.

(This was written for and about Bette Midler.)

Ruby Jeffords was cutting a rug
To the music played by hubby Bub.
Four guitars and a moonshine jug,
Bass fiddle made from a wash tub.
And the music they play is not
Headed out for Carnegie Hall.
While it may not be sophisticated
Everyone is having a ball.

There’s two stepping and stomp
And a lot of big cowboy hats.
It’s a country and western romp
And it don’t get better than that.
The fiddle player is sawing
Like he’s cutting a cord of wood.
The onlookers are clapping hands.
They’d all join in if they could.

And the music they play is not
Headed out for Carnegie Hall.
While it may not be sophisticated
Everyone is having a ball.

The dance floor is so crowded
Some people just sit this one out.
But they add to the joy and spirit
Because they clap loud and shout.
They feel the music and tap toes
Falling into the music and beat.
Bub playing, and Ruby dancing
Everybody tapping their feet.

Ruby Jeffords was cutting a rug
To the music played by hubby Bub.
Four guitars and a moonshine jug,
Bass fiddle made from a wash tub.
And the music they play is not
Headed out for Carnegie Hall.
While it may not be sophisticated
Everyone is having a ball.

If you were the only
Girl in the world
And I were the only boy.
It would be the end of
The human race.
Not another baby would
Ever grace this place.
The Garden of Eden
Would never had been
If I were the only boy.

Nothing much would matter
In the whole world today.
We would all know when
The  race would waste away.
Oh, for sure, we'd have fun
And  end of times rituals
Much of what we did would
End up being quite ******.
Fun and games just because
There ends up being no point.
But still in the end you would
Possibly not feel much joy
If I were the only boy.

If I were the only boy
in the world
And you were the only girl.
Unless you've kept a secret
From the gays of the world
You will be crying as the only girl.
I could take you dancing
With the other boys.
You will surely not want
To play with their toys.
I won't mind helping you
Give your hair a good curl
But, that's all I'll have for
The world's only girl.

Waiting my turn to pay
For the items we need today;
The beans and the chili
And some picklelilli
And costly imported pate.

A headline that says glaringly
What some starlet does daringly.
What I see before my eyes
A big edition full of lies
They put here to tempt me daringly.

Where childbirth oddities
Are viewed as commodities
To put onto the front page
Soon, to become all the rage.
And two headed goats
Get the kind of public note
That should be reserved
For something more deserved.

We all know these stories
Are anecdotal glories
Made up by the magazines;
The tawdriest ever seen
And they don’t mind getting gory.
It’s yellow journalism
A sort of print format ****
Intended for the kind of fool
Who never finished school
And falls for jingoism.

Where childbirth oddities
Are views as commodities
To put onto the front page
Soon, to become all the rage.
And two headed goats
Get the kind of public note
That should be reserved
For something more deserved.

Brent Kincaid
4/18/2015

I am the person who pays taxes,
Therefore I am not rich or a major corporation.
I am the person you send to war
And then come home to an ungrateful nation.
I am the worker who paid for years
To a fund you raided, then want to destroy.
I am the gay or black or disabled person
You decided it was unacceptable to employ.

I am the mother of children
Who can’t feed her children due to inflation
The grown child who cannot rent
Because I am seen as an abomination.
I am the person you claim is equal
But I am also the person you chose to ignore
Because I don’t live the way you say
You don’t want me in your neighborhood any more.

I am the person whose skin is too dark
So, you decided I am not a human being.
I am the person starving in the street
The one you manage to keep from seeing.
I am the person who hates war
And that you keep on creating more death.
I am the person who denies you grace
With all the energy I have until my last breath.

You are totally ruined
From your head to your shoes
You’ve got a crippling case of
The Spoiled Baby Blues.
When you don’t get your way
That’s when you always choose
To sing your own arrangement of
The Spoiled Baby Blues.

You’re alone most every night.
You call people up on the phone
Things just ain’t going right
But still you sit home alone.
Your life would be better
If you had somebody to love.
But nobody comes back again
Nobody you approve of.

You are totally ruined
From your head to your shoes
You’ve got a crippling case of
The Spoiled Baby Blues.

You take them out to dinner
And they babble on and on.
You buy candy and flowers
But later they’re still gone.
It can’t be stuff about you
Because you are a dream.
It must be in who you choose
Not as sweet as they seem.

When you don’t get your way
That’s when you always choose
To sing your own arrangement of
The Spoiled Baby Blues.

Would you know how to act
If everything was fine?
Or would you work overtime
To find a cause to whine?
You don’t do a thing in life
To change your mournful song.
Nothing good to sing about
Something’s always wrong.

You are totally ruined
From your head to your shoes
You’ve got a crippling case of
The Spoiled Baby Blues.
When you don’t get your way
That’s when you always choose
To sing your own arrangement of
The Spoiled Baby Blues.

I must have been raised wrong,
I believe in being generous.
I think people should be loved;
That meanness can be onerous.
I have seen what evil does
And I want no more of that.
I don’t think that selfishness
Will really feed the captain’s cat.

I have watched back biters
And gossips and thieves
Bring themselves all unawares
To the point where everyone grieves.
I have witnessed liars who get
Tripped up on their own tales;
Regular folks and politicians
Get the air taken from their sails.

I know well that our elderly
Have already done their job
So it’s fine with me if they just
Sit around and act like slobs.
They took care of us when we
Were the indolent folks kids are
So, they are entitled to rest,
More than we are, by far.

I was raised to let people be
If they had some philosophy
That did not match mine
Or even the vast majority.
Someone thinks a different way
That’s fine if it hurts no one.
Not everybody thinks the same
Carnival rides are that much fun.

I saw for myself that people
Were individual in so many ways.
Different in how they dressed
And what they had to say.
Some liked sports TV
And many preferred the soaps.
All of that is fine with me
So, why call each other dopes?

Is there something wrong with me
That I don’t go along with the crowd?
That I don’t enjoy the fights,
The sports fans shouting out loud?
Am I silly for not slowing down
When I pass a wreck on the highway?
Well, if I am, then that is fine.
I will go on doing things my way.

She was stark naked
I could see her ****
And her boyfriend had
Quite the **** on him.
His meat should have
Made him quite proud
And the lady’s ****
For crying out loud
Were perky and prominent
And quite nice to see.
Both of them seemed
To be pointing at me.

And I seemed to be
Eagerly pointing back.
They both very obviously
Aware of that one fact.
She smiled openly
And the guy broadly winked.
I started asking myself
“Do you think? He did wink!”
So, I winked and smiled
And let them see my bone
And hoped this meant I
Would not be alone.

I hoped they’d invite me
To sit on their beach towel
To slather sunscreen on them
Like a human mortar trowel.
There are not many things
There are few better for me
Than hot mixed couples
Into some fun bisexuality.
I have games for both kinds
And genders of human beings
All based on the stimulus
Of what I’m feeling and seeing.

Generally a single man
Is not lucky at this scene
A common concept that I
Always found to be quite mean.
I understand about jealousy,
An emotion foreign to me
So, I usually keep my distance
And behave circumspectly.
But when I get the go-ahead
I never hesitate very long.
How could something this good
Be considered bad or wrong?

Little Timmy Trashcan
Was born on a lonely day.
His mother had him and then
She threw Timmy away.
She never wanted children
She just wanted her man.
So, she got pregnant
And her man just ran.

Little Timmy Trashcan
Grew up nearly all alone.
A neighbor hired to feed him
So, he was all skin and bone.
His teacher tried to help
But the mother told lies.
She watched a lot of TV
And it made her PTA wise.

Little Timmy Trashcan
Much smaller than his peers.
Got beat on and ridiculed
For all his growing years.
No man was there to teach
How to stand up and fight
And his mother was busy
Going out almost every night.

Little Timmy Trashcan
Never made it to adult.
He lived beneath notice
And this was the result.
He learned how to vanish
And bother nobody much.
Little Timmy Trashcan
Died from no loving touch.

Happy naked holidays
For those who are so inclined
The world would be better
If no one would really mind
That people go to the beach unclothed;
Bring a volleyball and play
Or picnic in the park in the ****
On any lovely sunny day.

The same with all the holidays
They're for each of us to celebrate
In whatever way each may choose
Their philosophy to demonstrate.
Because after all isn't naturism
A way of worshipping creation?
How could it be proper then
To label it just a deviation?

So have very Merry Holidays
Of the very nakedest kind;
As that's the way you were created
Nobody should really mind.
Happy Easter merry Christmas
And happy Thanksgiving too.
So happy naked holidays
To each and every one of you!

Waiting all winter here
For summer to arrive
So we can go on every ride;
So good to be alive.
No more cold weather
Summer’s here, so are we
From morning until night
Playing continuously.

Hershey bars, bumper cars
Popcorn and a coke.
Maybe the operator
Will go out for a smoke.
Leaving us up high again
Way up on the top
Making us wish this all
Will go on and never stop.

The Fun House is just that,
As is the Tunnel of Love,
And the parachute ride
Drops us from above.
The House of Mirrors
Shows who we are not
And distorts our views
Of the bodies we’ve got.

Hershey bars, bumper cars
Popcorn and a coke.
Maybe the operator
Will go out for a smoke.
But first stop it high again
With us up on the top
Making us wish this all
Will go on and never stop.

Throwing ***** at targets
Like famous baseball stars
Wins us some ugly toys
We take home in our car
For some goodnight kisses
And after a perfect day,
Wish as hard as we can
That it would never go away.

Hershey bars, bumper cars
Popcorn and a coke.
Maybe the operator
Will go out for a smoke.
Leaving us up high again
Way up on the top
Making us wish this all
Will go on and never stop.

I used to like you when you were dumb.
Then you smartened up and it pains me some.
You question almost everything I say.
You use these big words almost every day.
You really are making my brain cells hum.

You used to be **** when you talked.
You had this trampy twist in the way you walked.
You did everything I told you to do.
Now you want to try things that are new.
And at that, baby, I just have to balk.

I really do prefer the way you used to be.
You made sure to do things that pleased me.
Dinner was always right on time,
And serving leftovers was a crime.
Now meals are not the way they should be.

I used to be breadwinner around here.
That was one thing that was totally clear.
I gave you a weekly allowance to spend.
None of this going out for drinks with friends,
Now you have a job and sometimes you’re not here.

I think the cause of this is all this reading.
You think you’re getting smart is misleading.
You are getting a different attitude
And I think a lot of them are rude.
There are some basic truths you aren’t heeding.

So you should put the Bible on your list.
As a matter of fact, I really do insist.
It tells you I am the important one
And you are just a planet to my sun.
So it isn’t God’s will that you resist.

Brent Kincaid
4/24/2015

There was an orange caveman
Who made himself a fancy home.
It was as glitzy as he could make it
Using gold and fancy stones.
He had enough wealth to
Employ many starving slaves.
He fed them as seldom as he could
**** near from womb to grave.

When he took folks to the top
Of his ostentatious dwelling,
You could swear within minutes
You could hear his ego swelling.
He had the softest of couches
And lookouts over the land.
He did his level best to be sure
His caveman home was grand.

His slaves would prepare for him
The most lavish of repasts
And guests were encouraged
To dig in as long as it lasts.
But at end of day all must
Get the hell out of there.
He always had a new young wife
And he didn't like to share.

But, somewhere along the tour
He would keep some internal pledge
And take you up to the top
And point out a jutting ledge.
He would comment on it's proximity
To his bed for the middle of the night.
He explained it was his privy
Quite handy from this lofty height.

He said only whites could use it,
He was quite stubborn about that.
Because the good people in life
Must be careful where they sat.
But he laughed at those below
And made no attempt to hedge.
He enjoyed the idea of their fate
And what comes from the white privy ledge.

You call me alarmist
Because I say what I have heard.
You call me socialist
As if it were a ***** word.
You call me communist
Like this is nineteen fifty two.
You make an epithet
Of anyone who contradicts you.

You call me coward
Because I hate war so much.
You call people ******
If men should hug or touch.
You call people terrorists
If they don't worship your way.
You seem to hate the poor
Wish they would just go away.

You have a list of names
You use instead of using specifics.
You have a list of behaviors
You consider to be extra terrific
Like making fun of races
And calling starving people losers.
Make laws against cannabis
While you are a bunch of boozers.

You use Christianity
Like membership in the Rotary.
Won't take your credentials
To be verified by a legal notary.
You hide your profits
And brag about your successes
And become homicidal
If you get anything but yesses.

It's a sick world you sell
With your hate filled speeches.
Surely this is not what
Your spiritual leader teaches.
There is so much disdain
And even evil in what you do.
Let us all hope and pray
Our kids don't turn out like you.

Little Lolly LOL is not too bright
She types LOL day and night
She seems to think that abbreviation is
To replace things like parenthesis,
Or hahaha, hello or goodbye.
She uses it constantly, don’t know why.
The way she uses it is a blight.
As I have said, she’s not too bright.

We never met, Little Lolly and I
But it’s almost as if I can hear it;
Her ending every single sentence
With LOL as if it were a period.
She can be chatting about ******
Disease or crooked officials
But she manages to end it with
Those silly, mirthful initials.

Little Lolly LOL I am sure totally fails
To understand what she has said.
I even tried a few times to get
The idea into her fluttery head.
But to her, she is being ‘with it’,
To her it’s just like saying ‘whatever’.
And that it means laughing out loud?
She never quite puts that all together.

With Little Lolly LOL, that is the price
One has to pay for her friendship.
To be sure, she’s not being funny.
LOL is punctuation, not a valid quip.
She saw and somebody explained it
So, she grabbed it and she uses it.
It never occurred to her addled brain
That there was any way to abuse it.

"I always wanted to wander."
"To wander? To where?"
"From Walla Walla to Uganda."
"That's a wide world to wander!"
"You wanna?"
"Wanna what?"
"To wander?"
"To where, Uganda?"
"Youbetcha!"
"I don't want to onomatopoeia anymore!"

"Are you refusing me?"
"You're confusing me!"
"Do I do that usually?"
"Yes, and it's abusing me!
"I didn't used to be."
"But you see it's no use to me,
So start talking lucidly!
You're coming across abstrusely
By talking so loosely.
You've got a lot of 'splaining to do Lucy."

"It started out grand!"
"But quickly got out of hand."
"But you fail to understand."
"You should have planned."
"Is that a reprimand?"
"You're like the ampersand."
"I don't understand."
"It means 'and per se and';
The pronunciation became bland
And three Latin words became 'ampersand'."

"But, don't you need a vacation?"
"What is the relation?"
"It's a matter of pronunciation,
And sometimes punctuation.
Some words deserve elimination.
Yes, and some deserve illumination.
Thus my original illustration.
In the interest of communication,
Some things deserve enunciation."
"I will accept that explanation."

"But, I'm still hugely fond of
The two of us going to Uganda;
As we internationally wander
I'm sure it will make you fonder
The more the two of us wander."
"But I really don't wanna!"
"Don't wanna what?"
"Go to Uganda!"
"That's what you don't wanna?"
"You betcha!"
"It's okay. They probably won't letcha."

What the hell is a katydid?
Is it near where the carotid is hid?
And, is there a reason we need
To know whatever Katy did?

Why does macaroni have an elbow?
This sounds to me a lot like a phony.
And how far back and forward does it go?
Really? Anthropomorphized macaroni?

What kind of person puts a bra on a car?
I mean, the entire idea is a bit bizarre,
One of the silliest I have heard of so far.
Does anyone know what automoboobies are?

Can people play poker with potato chips?
Maybe they’ll up the ante with avocado dip?
Then Vegas would not be such a wise trip.
Gives a new meaning to being ‘in the chips’.

Who gets to legally use a homophone?
And can anyone properly use it alone?
Since we no longer dial, why dial tone?
Some of this stuff if from the Twilight Zone.

Political parties don’t seem to be fun,
Not even for the lucky ones that won.
It must mean something that people run
But they look like something to run from.

Why would anybody put money into a kitty.
What is the matter that they have no pity?
After all, most kitties are way itty bitty.
So, stop putting money into a poor kitty!

And this putting on the dog stuff annoys.
It sounds like the game of bratty boys;
They finally get old enough to ignore toys
And play word games on a dog. Oh joy!

And what does it mean to horse around?
Is it the pantomime horse worn by clowns?
It can’t be the kind of horse one rides around?
That kind might trample a fool into the ground.

My dictation program has an accent
It types out the most unreadable things,
When I say something like " my bunion stings",
It types back to me about onion rings.
There have been embarrassing moments
When I was chatting along quite normally.
I found myself feeling very thankful
That I hadn't been chatting formally.

The conversation needn't be special,
Nor use any esoteric phrases.
But some of the crap this program prints
Astounds, stultifies and amazes.
It can't be brushed off as an accent thing;
My speech is quite non-dialectic.
Sometimes it seems that Apple, Inc
Wants to render me apoplectic.

But, the way it is I have no human beings
That I can focus my frustration on
When something that company sells at a store
Turns me into an unwitting pawn.
As it is it's an iPhone and I can't pity it
When I hit "send" too fast and seem an idiot.
It’s possible I am asking far too much
Of the current reach of technology.
Even though our phones seem part of us
They aren’t really part of our anatomy.

He has one eye missing
And a patchwork ****.
I tell everybody he’s winking,
That he has one eye shut.
He’s lost a lot of hair
And he no longer sits up
Like he used to before.
But whenever I see him
I am never in doubt
He is still the bear I adore.

Bubby Bear is a very good bear
The best friend there ever could be.
He sleeps by my side every night
And Bubby never argues with me.

When things get too scary
Or out of control I go and
Grab up Bubby and hold him.
He’s always warm and he’s
Sympathetic, and so I never
Feel the need to scold him.
I can always talk to him
And explain things out
Because he is so very patient.
I think it is because he
Is such a very wise bear
And always there waiting.

Bubby Bear is the finest bear
He always right beside me.
I don’t have to worry that he
He might want to abandon me.

Some people like to tease me
About the way Bubby looks
And make fun of his condition.
But they have to admit to me
They don’t have a friend who gives
One hundred percent permission,
And never gets tired of them
Or tattles their confidences
Or gets bored with what they say.
That’s why Bubby is my best friend
Always was, always will be
All night long and every single day.

Bubby Bear is a very good bear
He puts up with my every whim.
I feel sorry for anyone who
Doesn’t have a friend like him.

Life is good, fighting the good fight.
A bunch of beers with the boys, and
Standing up for what is truly right.
It’s what we do on Saturday night.
Kicking the **** out of blacks,
Jews, Mexicans, Asians and ****
And any not quite right whites,
Chanting three letters, waving flags.

It’s the American way.
No matter what liberals say,
It’s the only true way,
Be a conservative today!
Make a public stand
Show them where you live.
Hate anybody who is not
A red-blooded conservative!

The ***** liberals are coming
To take our jobs and weapons.
But, we are not going to let them.
They must think we’re all women.
We are real men, good and true
And we know what we have to do.
We believe in the red white and blue
And the sissified can all just go *****.

It’s the American way.
No matter what liberals say,
It’s the only true way,
Be a conservative today!
Make a public stand
Show them where you live.
Hate anybody who is not
A red-blooded conservative!

We believe in God, and Jesus Christ
And anyone who does not isn’t nice.
If this describes you, take some advice
Go live somewhere else and eat rice.
Because this is a God-fearing land
And if you can’t quite understand
Or you have something else planned
You will feel the back of our hand.

It’s the American way.
No matter what liberals say,
It’s the only true way,
Be a conservative today!
Make a public stand
Show them where you live.
Hate anybody who is not
A red-blooded conservative!

Claus, Santa, the
Is a huge enigma to me
And probably many others
My enigmatized sisters and brothers.
Enigmatized, possibly stigmatized,
It beggars logical thought
All the confusion and pain
This concept has brought.

For over two centuries
Surrounded with mysteries
An alternately jovial and evil guy
Brought bounteous gifts, could fly!
Gave coal to the misbehaving,
Or nothing much at all, saving
All the good stuff for good kids
Who were careful with what they did.

We have read of Saint Nick
And Sinterklaas; take your pick
Of which legend blended with what
To become the guy we were taught
Sneaked down chimneys at night
It you kids didn’t sleep tight.
While this is all very typical
It seems rather biblical.

Claus’s eye is on the sparrow
So we must walk the straight and narrow
Or go down into his big naughty book
And he will ultimately decide to look
Askance at any chance of gifts for you
No matter how much begging you do
Write to his eternal rotund self.
He’s an unforgiving old elf.

And there’s that flying reindeer thing
And the way he’s rumored to go zipping
Around the entire blessed world in one night.
That, to me just never seemed quite right.
It’s bizarre and incredible is exactly what.
Do the reindeer have jet engines in their ****?
And how can one tiny sleight and eight beasts
Tote those thousands of truckloads at least?

No, the whole thing sounds bogus, in its base.
And that whole North Pole/tiny people place
Where they slave on making toys all the year
And thrive on hot chocolate instead of beer?
Elves must be a rather dim gang of workers.
No union leaders? No malingerers? No lurkers?
I have tried for decades, but it doesn’t add up.
There’s too much questionable in this holiday cup.

I’m going back to the idea I thought as a child.
It’s easier to believe and not nearly as wild:
It’s Mom and Dad behind it all, it’s a big lie.
And my final bit of skepticism? I can tell you why.
The kids in my little neighborhood get given
Gifts with no relationship to how they are living.
If all this hogwash were actually true
Bunches of them would get coal too.

Brown boys on the beach
All of them are great
So many just out of reach
Because most are straight.
Something close to mocha;
Unbelievably **** skin.
Some of it looks like heaven
And some of it purest sin.

Brown boys in shorts
Just covering bare *****;
Impervious to winks and
Any kind of gay passes.
But I hear rumors of them;
Legends may be a better word.
Gay things have been known
To happen with them I’ve heard.

Brown boys bare chested
Showing off their physiques.
Proud of that they take care of
Best I’ve seen in weeks.
It’s not that white boys here
Are that much less appealing
But there is something about
The way I have been feeling.

Brown boys can flirt here
In a way I have never seen.
It’s flattering without invitation;
Never insulting, never mean.
Someday I will get braver
And ask one of them to teach
How to tell which one is gay
Of those brown boys on the beach.

The kid in the background
The one who doesn’t smile
Who goes mostly unnoticed
And has for quite awhile.
The kid in the background
Who stands there all alone.
Is the child an orphan
The baby nobody owns?

The one who is forgotten
When family gathers.
Is this the only child
With no father or mother?
And what of the brothers
And sisters to this kid.
Why do they ignore him?
Is it something that he did?

The kid in the background
The last one to get picked
In a neighborhood game.
Is it some king of mean trick?
Are his glasses the problem
Or some condition of skin?
What can be the excuse
For the sad state he is in?

The kid plays by himself
It seems he has to pretend
That he is having fun alone
And that he has a friend.
Are these children like birds
That pick on an injured creature?
Where are the parents here,
The adults, the teachers?

The kid in the background
Might be the brightest one
But how will we ever know
If he shines brighter in the sun
Unless we ask the questions
Of what brings this all about
That children on the playground
Want to leave this kid out?

If everybody were naked
Nobody could make fun of my style
I would never be outdated.
I could go to parties with a smile.

Also when I live naked
Laundry bill can never go high.
I go jump into the shower
Suddenly I am a clean living guy.

Of course your clothing
Never gets sunburned
And nobody laughs at your zipper.
If you are the only
Person who’s naked
You look like a mescaline tripper.

But if everyone got naked
We might do away with all war
Because there would be little
That seems worth arguing for.

With all the women naked
There would be an end to their hose.
And girdles out of the question.
They’d be as natural as a spring rose.

But one must be careful.
A park bench can pinch
And hot car seats can burn.
Living **** has problems
But like everything else
It just more lessons one must learn.

But think about politics naked;
All those liars up on a public stage.
Without their expensive suits
Would they still manage to engage?

Olympians played naked.
Soldiers used to fight naked too.
Not sure what point I am making
But I think it means something, don’t you?

Demon of complacency
Yours is the face I see
I never wanted to look back
I knew my life was on the track.
For far too long I had thought
I had the whole world caught.
I should have been afraid
Thinking that I had it made.

Excuses and ruses, I had them
Emotional accounts, I padded them.
I ignored all my past mistakes.
I figured they were just the breaks.
And now it is my time to shine.
I knew for sure I would be fine.
I could go back to my bad ways
I would have nothing but sunny days.

The bad things that happened to me
All came about quite accidentally.
I am so much older and smarter.
I know so many tricks of the trade.
I have this race made in the shade.
Crashing and burning a non-starter.
I could whip any monsters in the room.
I was sweeping with a brand new broom.

Demon of complacency
Yours is the face I see
I never wanted to look back
I knew my life was on the track.
For far too long I had thought
I had the whole world caught.
I should have been afraid
Thinking that I had it made.

I was sure I could run around
With the gang I had always found
The drinkers and smokers of ****
I have all the protection I need.
There is no reason for me to be
Locked up in a kind of high security.
I can take a drink or a tiny hit
Now that I know when to quit.

I miss my friends and fun and dancing.
Besides you need it when romancing.
I would be some kind of wimpy pain
If I didn’t offer a bit of champagne.
So, I know I can make it. I’m strong.
If someone is worried, they’re wrong.
A person can drink a few times a week.
I’ve outgrown all the worry, so to speak.

Demon of complacency
Yours is the face I see
I never wanted to look back
I knew my life was on the track.
For far too long I had thought
I had the whole world caught.
I should have been afraid
Thinking that I had it made.

Brent Kincaid
4/11/2015

I’m a just right, out of sight, lily-white,
Never coy, ball of joy, good old boy,
So great it keeps me up at night,
Clever son of all the tricks I employ.
A world-beating, caucus leading,
Really big deal, big wheel big shot,
Clean outside, mean on the inside
Super savvy, super cool, super hot.

I’m the guy you want to toast
I’m the tops, I’m where it’s at
Some are good, but I’m the most.
I’m a sainted southern aristocrat.
It’s not good to get on my bad side.
I’m a fearless, remorseless go-getter.
I’m right, you’re wrong, if there’s a fight,
Yeah, you may be good, but I’m better.

I’m a cut above, you’ve just got to love
A gift from God sent from high above.
A card-carrying good guy to the letter,
A credit to my entire race, nobody better.
Whether in the news or word of mouth,
A quality beacon of the Sainted South.

I’m the guy you want to toast
I’m the tops, I’m where it’s at
Some are good, but I’m the most.
I’m a sainted southern aristocrat.
It’s not good to get on my bad side.
I’m a fearless, remorseless go-getter.
I’m right, you’re wrong, if there’s a fight,
Yeah, you may be good, but I’m better.

So, go away with your stupid picketing;
We knew how to run things way back when
We have God on our side, so just back off.
Old ways are the best way, again and again.
Your talk about equality and nigras rights
May sound good, but it’s all just libel.
We are the chosen children of our God
And you can find that in The Holy Bible.

I’m a cut above, you’ve just got to love
A gift from God sent from high above.
A card-carrying good guy to the letter,
A credit to my entire race, nobody better.
Whether in the papers or word of mouth,
I’m a quality representative of The South.

I’s gunna say
I’d hafta wanna,
So, omina say no.
I know I coulda
And prolly shoulda
But I wouldn’ta
‘Cause I gotta
Kinda take a chanceta
Be a wannabe.
Not a useta was,
But a gunna go to guy.
Still I liketa never
Gotta break yet.
But I’m tryna.

Winecha common?
Wotsa prollem?
Youc’n do it, cancha?
Tryna kid me?
Tryna trick me.
Wotsa mattayou?
Crazy inna head?
Shoulda stood in bed?
Eye ainna gunna
Letcha **** me
Lyka dummass
Jess causeya can.
Eye aindat kyna guy.
Eye ainno fool, er you?

So, omina skip it
Jess fergit it
Eye ain doinit.
No way ** say.
Say wotcha gotta
Wotever ya wanna
But omina do thangs
My own way.
Not gunna play.
Nuttin youc’n say
Gunna change me,
Make a differnse.
So, jess go way.
Look fer sumthin
Er sumone else
At wantsta play.

The land of the free
The huddled masses
Salute the flag and
Raise your glasses.
Just going along fine;
You never had a hunch
And then America gives
A sneaky sucker punch.

With malice toward none
The land of equality
Everyone the same
Just like you and me,
Unless he is black
Or some other non-white.
Then, not really equal.
No, sorry. Not quite.

The rules are laid out,
Not in the constitution.
To be okay in the USA
Is an ironclad institution.
You don’t make waves,
Or rise above your station.
A handpicked few white men
Are in charge of this nation.

The land of the free
The huddled masses
Salute the flag and
Raise your glasses.
Just going along fine;
You never had a hunch
And then America gives
A sneaky sucker punch.

So, don’t start whining
About equal opportunity.
That really isn’t for you
Only for the likes of me.
I’m a rich white man, you see
I control most of what there is
Which is almost everything.
Tell you when to take a whizz.

There are haves and have-nots
And you know which you are.
If you’re lucky you get to own
A TV and inexpensive car.
But other than voting for
The two parties we allow
You just pay taxes, that’s it.
Nothing else, not ever, not now.

The land of the free
The huddled masses
Salute the flag and
Raise your glasses.
Just going along fine;
You never had a hunch
And then America gives
A sneaky sucker punch.

The itty bitty city kitty
She thought she was the best
She thought she was so witty;
Much better than the rest.

The itty bitty city kitty
Begged to be put to the test
That’s the reason for this ditty
She felt there was no contest.

The itty bitty kitty
Runs home to her nest.
She hates the nitty gritty;
Her voice loudly expressed.

The itty bitty kitty
Will always request
Travis Tritt and Conway Twitty
For her country music zest.

The little bitty kitty
In the cold she wears a vest.
She never learned to knitty
Though we’d have been impressed.

The itty bitty kitty
Takes scorn as just a jest.
She doesn’t need your pity.
She’s on a kitty quest.

The little bitty kitty
Likes her covers messed.
It kind of makes her giddy.
Likes her comfort best.

We called it dump country
Tons and tons of junk
Old bicycles and plenty
Of bottles from the drunks.
The legal dump sites
Had not been arranged.
This was now the city,
Things yet to be arranged.

Four little kids, broke ***,
Not much money for toys.
It was the end of the fifties,
Bad times for little boys.
We made our own adventure,
Way before Disneyland.
We left right after breakfast
To us, the whole trip was grand.

We found amazing things
And brought them all home.
I found a gold painted Buddha
Under a kind of glass dome.
Jim found a tricycle there
And cleaned it up real nice.
It was a really good dump site
We went a lot more than twice.

We called it dump country
We had it to ourselves.
Just us four busy bumpkins.
Santa’s ***** little elves.
We found wheels and things
To build our own little cars.
We got cut up a bit sometimes.
I still have one of the scars.

Over in dump country
The one nearest to our place
Sam found a bit of money
One penny with an Indian face.
But what we found there
Added up to a treasure chest.
It sounds silly but they may be
The memories that were best.

Downton Abbey’s going off the air.
I’m not through yet, it’s just not fair.
Nothing before that show ever had
That kind of class, that degree of flair.
Life without my weekly Downton
Is too sad and inordinately scary.
What will I do without my frequent fix
Of the elegantly snarky Lady Mary?

And will the feckless Mister Barrow
Ever develop a true human soul?
I am sure this handsome actor fellow
Will never again get such a meaty role.
And the Dowager Duchess herself,
She is not someone easily done with.
She is, after all, tradition incarnate,
And under all that, she’s Maggie Smith.

Bates and his Anna filled my heart
With alternating sorrow and great joy
Almost as much as a lady of nobility
Marrying the handsome chauffer boy.
Dresses and hair lengths shortened
And nobility began to get real jobs.
All this was before ****** flared up
And turned starving folks into a mob.
I never missed that we were seeing
The transition from ‘la belle epoque’.
That time was running out for that
In the worlds ever-changing clock.

It was a yesterday we never knew
We of the age of electric equality.
We got to look inside and see it
In all its grandly overdressed reality.
I had begun to recognize artwork, in
Lovely strolls through baronial halls
And huge family meals at table.
I am sorry that it is over for us all.

Peaches and cream,
That’s what you are to me
Flowers in a stream.
Red and gold sunsets
Just like in a dream.
Cotton candy days
That’s what I have with you
A honey scented haze.
Two people matched in
Ever after ways.

It sometimes seems we
Are floating on a cloud.
It makes someone like me
Want to shout out loud.
I am so lucky,
It makes me want to sing.
I am that wealthy
That I have everything.

Peaches and cream,
It’s like a fairy tale
Just the way it seems.
But I won’t wake up
As this is not a dream.
This is a moment
Like I once wished upon.
A busted wishbone
And all my sadness gone.

When I was a little kid
My friends and I would play
At cowboys and Indians
In the barn with forts of hay.
We crafted guns from sticks
We found about the farm
And though we shot each other
We managed to come to no harm.

Bang, bang, bang! I got you!
No you didn’t, you missed!
The bullet whizzed by me!
You can’t see me in the mist!

Of course, if we were Indians
The same rules held true there.
You never managed to **** us
We never took your hair.
But, we knew we were villains
Because cowboys were king.
We didn’t even question it.
It was that sort of thing.

Bang, bang, bang. I got you!
Cowboys don’t ever cry.
We twist and dodge you redskins
So, don’t even bother to try.

Holding invisible reins, we rode
On our noble painted steeds.
We pretended it was the old West
Here in our playground of weeds.
Some of us had play weapons
Santa had brought to the lucky
But forcing improvisation only
Made us a lot more plucky.

Bang, bang, bang. I shot you.
You ***** lowdown rustler.
Oh, we thought of every dodge.
What young, clever hustlers.

I was having a cigarette
On top of a ziggurat
When I asked the Sphinx
To say what he thinks.
He said I’d know what he did
If I were in the pyramid.
But instead I had got
Myself on a ziggurat
So, he couldn’t say what
He truly thought he thought.

Then the Sphinx said to me
There will be lots of mystery
And I am certainly not joking
But you must give up smoking.
Because an important answer
Is that ziggurats cause cancer.

I don’t believe that is so.
I feel I must let you know
That there isn’t a chance
I mean, look how you dance
With your body all flat
In those tall pointy hats
Your elbows look broken
So, I know you are joking
And making an ancient pun,
You are just having fun
With a modern American.
I will do whatever I can
To try to catch the basic gist
Of whatever I have missed.

Then uttered the Sphinx
You logic is missing some links.
I’m older than the pyramids
And you are all just kids.
Now you know what the Sphinx thinks.