I strike a hot match against those Front-Porch-Sitting-Mowing Freaks who live across the street.
I'm out there every morning;
Afternoons, too,
My grass stands tall,
And my fingers dance lightly across my dulcimer.
I'm strumming 'Wildwood Flower', mistakes and all.
I get serious with 'Whiskey Before Breakfast', not well done.
But then I break out with 'Cripple Creek.'
And who can fault me for that one?
It's a happy tune, done well, or poorly.
Those **** neighbors sit across the way.
They don't even bother to stare.
Something has changed.
There is still no sparkle in their eyes,
But I am happy.
It isn't my job to entertain the world.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 1:37 PM UTC
I strike a hot match against those Front-Porch-Sitting-Mowing Freaks who live across the street.
I'm out there every morning;
Afternoons, too,
My grass stands tall,
And my fingers dance lightly across my dulcimer.
I'm strumming 'Wildwood Flower', mistakes and all.
I get serious with 'Whiskey Before Breakfast', not well done.
But then I break out with 'Cripple Creek.'
And who can fault me for that one?
It's a happy tune, done well, or poorly.
Those **** neighbors sit across the way.
They don't even bother to stare.
Something has changed.
There is still no sparkle in their eyes,
But I am happy.
It isn't my job to entertain the world.
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