Grandma had a clever dog;
She raised him from a pup.
And when he learned that he could talk
You couldn't shut him up.

His tail was just a nubbin
And he had a flattened mug.
He looked like a short boxer
So grandma named him pug.

Grandma told us what he looked like
For we never saw the cuss.
Her walking, talking, Pug Dog
Was invisible to us.

She said he'd always been around,
As far as she recalled.
Her mother told Pug stories
Before grandma even crawled.

Every family has traditions
And I guess I'd have to say,
Pug tales have been our custom
Right down to this very day.

When grandma gives a long deep sigh
And says, "Now, one day Pug. . ."
We know a story's coming
So we sit down on the rug.

We nestle up beside her
For a tale we've never heard.
And everyone gets quiet
So that we won't miss a word.

The stories grandma tells us
Of the things that dog can do
Can hold any child's attention,
Even fill a book or two.

Grandma's Pug tales outdo Rin-Tin-Tin
And even ******-Doo.
He's a smarter dog than Snoopy;
Smarter than Lassie too.

Pug has traveled  far, to distant lands,
And even outer space.
He's done every thing there is to do
And he's been every place.

He always gets in trouble
For there's nothing he won't try.
He has traveled in a sub-marine,
Flown airplanes in the sky.

He has even been arrested,
More than once broke out of Jail.
But the family loves him dearly
And we always pay his bail.

Where grandma gets her stories from
I guess I'll never know.
But even down through all these years
Her Pug tales grow and grow.

I know someday when grandma sleeps,
And her life on earth is gone,
The Angels all will gather
To hear Pug tales all day long

They caught Tom Dooley in my backyard when I
was only ten.
The posse rode in fast and hard
but he never rode again.

When the sheriff arrived Tom folded his hand for
he knew he was no longer free.
He offered no fight and he didn't run,
he just stared real hard at me.

Though he tried to smile he could barely grin, yet
he didn't say a thing.
He shed no tear when the women moaned or
when some began to scream.

My pa kept tending to his chores,
with a hollow look in his eye.
But mom gave Tom a tearful wave,
like when lovers say goodbye.

Tom glanced at pa and he stared at ma, then he
looked real hard my way.
His eyes said more than a heart could read, or a
tongue has words to say.

They caught Tom Dooley in my backyard when I
was only ten.
The posse rode in fast and hard
but he never rode again.

They hung Tom Dooley from the old oak tree; I
watched them take his life.
They left him hanging and swinging free, so I cut
him down with my knife.

I love my wife
I love my life
I’d never end it with a knife

But if this pain
Don’t disappear
I may lose both from drinking beer

And if the pain
Decides to stay
After my wife has gone away

I’ll probably die another way

On the dusty slopes where there's still cowpokes, where there's yet more sky than land,
In the Big Sky State, back in thirty-eight, they were hiring at Fort Peck Dam.

In the open skies where I get my highs, past the spill-way and the fort,
A small town looms where there's more saloons than a feller like me could sport.

Came a Texan bloke who was almost broke (and I'll tell you right now, it was I).
I was looking for work, something of my sort, but I'd take any job to get by.

At a cowpoke's inn where I wet my chin, and while standing at the bar,
I watched a girl who could dance and whirl to the tunes of a wrangler's guitar.

Every eye in the bar watched her jiggle and jar, not a one who wouldn't make her his own.
But, in spite of her shaking, I could see she was taken by a gent who sat back all alone.

And I saw in his face that he felt disgrace, Saw the jealousy seethe in his eyes.
Though he sat in disdain, and he never complained, his displeasure was easily surmised.

In a place where legends and tales abound, where circumstance rules the day,
Shaping men's schemes and frustrating their dreams, Till their willpower has no sway.

Where fate may run contrary to plan, frustrating our deepest desire.
It has often been shown that the life of a man can be changed when his soul's set afire.

I can only tell what I know is true , what I saw with my very own eyes.
But the man, alone in the back of the room, had a murderous look in his eyes.

I left the bar and went up to my room; tomorrow I'd be working for sure.
And the music still played, but the blare and the din didn't keep me from sleeping till four.

The morning came fast, and now working, at last, (for they'd hired me to work on the dam).
I worked and I toiled and I know my blood boiled pouring concrete for old Uncle Sam.

I gave no thought at all of the evening before; soon the whistle blew, ending my day.
And a drink with the crew seemed the right thing to do. I still had a few bucks I could pay.

At a bar back in town where we all bought a round The gossips were whispering a tale.
It seems like the girl, who knew how to whirl, was being held down at the jail.

A body was found under two feet of ground in a newly dug patch of her lawn.
And no one was missed from the residents list but her husband, nowhere to be found.

The body was new, but was nothing to view. It was burned beyond recognition.
Folks came forward to tell of a marriage from hell, of suspicions and speculation.

They had argued and fought over things she had bought. Some said he had threatened to leave her.
And a weapon was found laying there on the ground. He'd been slain with her brand new meat cleaver.

It was open and shut, they'd arrested her ****. and there weren't any clues to redeem her.
The gossip was keen and vicious and mean. Every woman in town would demean her.

Then a telegram came and I got on a train to a Texas town on the divide.
Where my father, quite ill, was having a spell and I wanted to be by his side.

I was well out of town when I happened to hear a railroad detective named Sam
Tell a story, quite odd, of a hobo he thought was asleep, by the track near the dam.

He had gone off to chase the *** from his place and had tossed a road flare on his bed.
But he fell to surprise when the *** failed to rise; and approaching, he found him quite dead.

He left him to burn so the next one would learn that "Old Sam was the king of this road."
But when he went back there was nothing but track, not a sign of the *** or his load.

Then I had an idea, for it made me recall what I'd seen that first night at the inn.
In the look on the face of a fellow disgraced, who had now vanished into the wind.

Had he buried that *** and planted some clues, then departed on this same train?
Sent his wife off to jail and covered his trail-- to start his life over again?

Saddled up to a bar-room stool, at a place on the East side of town,
drinking beer from a can, sat a dangerous man known as One-Punch ***** Brown.
The gals all sidled near him; the guys seemed to leave him alone.
We all knew his reputation and that ***** was bad to the bone.

They say he once knocked out a horse  and his hands could move faster than light.
We all knew how he came by his nickname; with one punch he could end any fight.
I sat at a game with five cards in my hand. I was hoping to fill in a straight.
With a gamblers face, I threw off an Ace and I hoped for a King or an eight.

Now, across the backroom at a table, all alone, just observing the scene,
sat what I'd call, one hell of a lady, with the dignity of a queen.
It was clear she was taking great interest in One-Punch ***** Brown,
by the smile that swept over her features when he signaled the bar for a round.

Though you never would guess he had noticed the lady all dressed in blue,
***** winked to the barkeep and whispered, "And take one over there to the shrew. "
I took it all in as I played out my hand; reading faces was part of my game.
In a moment I saw what most men would have missed; ***** cringed and his smile seemed to wane.

Now, from where I was playing the hand I was dealt, there by the backroom door,
I suddenly knew, as my Ace I threw, they had somehow met before.
I knew by her smirk and by his crooked grin, before this day would be o'er,
that the lady in blue, called by *****, "A shrew, " was intending to settle a score.

My blood ran cold and the tension grew, as I waited the luck of my ruse;
I saw tears wash away the makeup that covered a hell of a bruise.
I realized now why the lady was here and what she had come to do.
God! I wondered why he had beaten her so and I hated what I now knew.

I raised the bet, and sorted my cards; I noticed the hour was late.
I filled my hand with a Queen high straight, for the dealer had passed me an eight.
As I made my spread and collected my win, the lady played her Ace.
She shot three times and, as ***** fell, I saw he was shot in the face.

A hush fell over the bar room and ***** now lay on the floor.
No one else seemed to notice the lady in blue had already slipped out the door.
When they ask if I knew what had happened, when they wanted to know what Id seen,
I said, "All I saw was the cards in my hand; I was holding a Straight to the Queen."

When I was a child I would watch the sky
And see the clouds go rolling by.
And as I looked I would try to find
Faces to match with a nursery rhyme.

Or late at night, in my upstairs room,
I would gaze from my window at the stars and the moon.
And from open window I would search afar
For the man in the moon, or a falling star.

And then I would close my eyes and dream
Of far off lands I had never seen.
And visit imaginary places
And folks with imaginary faces.

I still look every now and then
Hoping to see what I saw back then.
So sit here, child, on grandpa's knee
And whisper to me things you see.

When insects play
Do they hide and seek?
Do they close their eyes
And try not to peek?

Do they count to ten
By an old Oak tree?
Do they "Rally! Rally!
All's in free?"

When Insects play
Do they jump a rope?
Do they ride a sled
Down a snowy *****?

Do they ever play games
Like "Truth or Dare?"
Or run with scissors?
Or cut their own hair?

Do they walk on stilts?
Do they "Kick the Can?"
Do they build little castles
Made out of sand?

Do they play football?
Or fly a kite?
Do they chase fireflies
On a summer night?

Do they play the same
Sort of games we do?
do they go to the park?
Or to the zoo?

In the summer,
Outdoors in the sun,
I've watched the Insects
Have great fun.

I've watched them soaring
In the breeze.
Build tree houses
Made of leaves.

I've seen mud daubers
In the day
Making mud pies
Out of clay.

When at the pond
I've watched with glee
How certain beetles
Can water-ski.

And if you have never,
Ever seen
A young prince ant
Courting a queen,

Then you have missed
A wondrous sight--
As ants with wings
Take off in flight.

I would love to have
Some insect friends.
I would like to join
Their insect games.

And I would teach
Them games I play,
If I could be
As small as they!