House on the Mesa

The kind of girl who on each date took
the Kama Sutra and a rate book
might see a mining town to be
financial opportunity.
Whether or not you think that there oughta be,
dough's to be made from the oldest commodity;
if she moves lots of tail and stays out of jail
she can move to the hill when the yuppies all bail.
A change in economy has side effects;
ambitious young fellows may want to change ***.
They best do their manly pro-mining moaning
'fore they start to squeak from de-testosteroning.

I live in the Yukon with all of my mates.
My grand folks moved north from the You Fried It States
It could be worse.  Got food?  You'll do fine,
but it gets kind of warm past the north B.C. line.
Some get the bug for Tierra del Fuego.
They pack their bags, wait for fall, and then say go.
But, far as I know, the most capable band
lost their resolve after 2 months of sand.
It could well be a several century wait
'til we paddle across the Darien Strait
and finally discover the southerners’ fate.
We probably need equatorial seas
to simmer back down to ninety degrees.

Of claims that I've lost it, well, I'm having none;
I'm bright as a fiddle and fit as the sun.
Say what you will and I give this rebuke,
I'm still cool as rain and as right as a cuke,
and though it may seem I'm perturbed now and then,
wet as a mad beet and as red as a hen,
we'll see when the time comes, as surely it will,
when I'm over the weather and under the hill,
who's down in the moon and who's over the dump,
who was dumb as a tack and who sharp as a stump.

She should have stayed where she belonged;
the woman card just got her shlonged.
We're going to make this country great.
My daughter might be fun to date.
There's just no way that we can win
with all the rapists leaking in.
We'll build a wall and make them quit
and Mexico will pay for it.
I'm smart and that's a clever plan.
******* it, that's a normal hand.
You think that Mexico will pay?
Well that's absurd; there's just no way.
I think perhaps that you misheard;
to what did you think "it" referred?
I've had about all I can take;
the leaks are real; the new is fake,
and women love me, one and all.
Theses hands aren't small; these hands aren't small.

Having heard it fans man's fires
having something he desires,
I set my heart on wishing for
what no man ever wished before,
and then one day I heard the news
that stars have different shades and hues
so now I wish for better eyes
for seeing candy-sprinkle skies.

I got up this morning; what can I say?
The sun shone down on a beautiful day.
I sipped a nice coffee, enjoyed a nice burp,
the ground squirrels peeped and the birds were achirp.
The deer were all dapper.  The views were astounding.
Beside me my woman and red boy were bounding.
Okay, okay, I know what you're thinking.
No, I don't mean it and yes, I've been drinking.

The old folks seem to find it grand
living in the Phoenix sand,
but the Colorado's running dry
and waters gonna go sky high
and government's not working great
and bank funds may evaporate;
their whole life's there but it's hard to care
when the cooling system blows hot air
and things will finally look too black
and they'll pack up the Cadillac,
the wife in front and Fifi back,
sitting on the diaper sack,
but gas is high and they won't be rich
and pretty soon they'll have to hitch,
and there's California, too, recall,
and I think Montana needs a wall.

Another bad hombre rode into the town in the search for a girl and a dance,
but it seemed Wild Bill ****** the air from the room and the gals wouldn't give him a glance.
It didn't seem fair and then shots filled the air and there didn't seem much of a chance
that the thing, in the light of the number of holes, Bill was likely to leave in, was pants.

Life, found in its normal state,
all tooth and claw, just ain't that great.
If simple logic ruled our brain,
we'd see it wasn't worth the pain,
but nature rose to meet the test;
she saw irrational was best;
we think our lives a special treat
from our cocoon of self-deceit,
which makes it plain how it could be
that what was clear we wouldn't see
and why we'll not go far beyond
the point where we did not respond,
our decadence and blind neglect
exactly what one should expect.

I can't quite remember the day that I came;
I seem to remember a guy with a name.
Sometimes I giggle and sometimes I curse;
sometimes I get a good kick at the nurse.
Sometimes a guy comes and sits in the chair
and says he has interesting news he can share;
he just keeps on talking and I just ignore;
sometimes it seems like I've seen him before.
Sometimes I sit here alone in my waste;
sometimes there's food and it's not the same taste.
Sometimes it's painful and sometimes I stink.
I'll probably be here tomorrow, I think.

I'm curing the problem the best way I've found.
I opened the breech and I slipped in a round,
this one for my darling, still lying in bed;
I ponder the things this will do to her head.
The way that she's done me, no doubt she's deserving
this coffee machine with its cute little serving.

What went wrong?  Well, let's review.
We thought experience would do,
and those who liked her didn't think
of thirty years of Clinton stink,
and thus we chose the only one
prepared to leave the job undone,
and forty years of downhill slide
appealed to our darker side,
and her weird suits and her wide-eyed stare
put the lizard-king in the power chair.

We have a judge who seems to see
himself a little deity.
His little mind has always deemed
himself most rightfully esteemed
and when he tries a little case
of mercy there is little trace;
of course his little mind won't sway
for little things like DNA.
Looking at the ballot shows
his name and box and none oppose;
unless you've heard this little rap
you won't avoid this little trap
and when you scratch your little X
help turn more little lives to wrecks.

Our God has powers that astound;
we know they really have no bound.
Thus, one great thing he can do
is make things false but also true.
You thought I argued, but I wasn't;
it's clear that he exists and doesn't.

Here's what's acknowledged by competent thinkers
while most find more comfort with eyes behind blinkers:
The gold rush is ending and here's what that bids;
six out of seven are hitting the skids.
So, who are the six who are filling these slots?
We could be magnanimous, simply draw lots,
which though it possesses a civilized sound,
ain't how it happens so far as we've found.
Maybe the rich folk who caused it should pay;
maybe the poor simply get in the way.
History shows us how we'll play the game;
we'll find ourselves someone who isn't the same,
someone to hang it on, someone to blame,
someone we don't like the sound of their name,
someone for whom some resentment has grown,
one with possessions you might like to own,
someone who came from a faraway place,
someone you don't have to look in the face.
There's times for survival and times to be fair;
unless you're the chosen you won't have a prayer,
you and your family just boils to lance.
Allow me to send my regrets in advance.