Kenny Rogers was a heroe
Heroe oh yeah mate
He was a heroe oh yeah mate yeah
But he did some great things
You see Kenny Rogers is a man
Who was really really good
He sang the gambler very well
Coward of the county
And a duet with Dolly Parton
Called islands in the stream
He was great and he loved life
He was really cool
He performed with bobby Doyle
And had groups like the new Christy minstrels and first edition where he had a song just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in which got to number 5 on the billboard charts and then he got more control of first edition and made a song in 1969 which was called
Ruby, don’t take your love to town
He was an actor as well as a singer
He acted in the gambler and six pack where he played a race car driver
he was radically awesome dude he had a restaurant chain called Kenny Rogers roasters with Kentucky fried chicken ceo John Y Brown he couldn’t pick his chicken out on a taste test on the Conan O’Brien show and that would be weird the chicken was shown on Seinfeld on the chicken roasted show
It also went bankrupt on an episode of fresh of the boat called let me go bro, actor was Jeff pomerantz
Mad tv and ******* also talked about his restaurant what a great chicken shop
He was on Reno 911 in 2004
And in 2012 he released a book titled
Luck or something like it, explaining his ups and downs in the music industry
Ommmmmmmm the great Kenny Rogers passed away
Ommmmmmmm send him to his next life with a great message for all
Ommmmmmmm you have to no where to hold em
Ommmmmmmm no where to walk away or know where the to run
Ommmmmmmm islands in the stream that is what we are
Ommmmmmmm the great Kenny Rogers was a Heroe
Like I said at the start
Ommmmmmmm singer actor chicken franchise
Ommmmmmmm he was a great man

I

Ere-while of Musick, and Ethereal mirth,
Wherwith the stage of Ayr and Earth did ring,
And joyous news of heav’nly Infants birth,
My muse with Angels did divide to sing;
But headlong joy is ever on the wing,
In Wintry solstice like the shortn’d light
Soon swallow’d up in dark and long out-living night.

II

For now to sorrow must I tune my song,
And set my Harpe to notes of saddest wo,
Which on our dearest Lord did sease er’e long,
Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse then so,
Which he for us did freely undergo.
Most perfect Heroe, try’d in heaviest plight
Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight.

III

He sov’ran Priest stooping his regall head
That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes,
Poor fleshly Tabernacle entered,
His starry front low-rooft beneath the skies;
O what a Mask was there, what a disguise!
Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide,
Then lies him meekly down fast by his Brethrens side.

IV

These latter scenes confine my roving vers,
To this Horizon is my Phoebus bound,
His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,
And former sufferings other where are found;
Loud o’re the rest Cremona’s Trump doth sound;
Me softer airs befit, and softer strings
Of Lute, or Viol still, more apt for mournful things.

V

Befriend me night best Patroness of grief,
Over the Pole thy thickest mantle throw,
And work my flatterd fancy to belief,
That Heav’n and Earth are colour’d with my wo;
My sorrows are too dark for day to know:
The leaves should all be black wheron I write,
And letters where my tears have washt a wannish white.

VI

See see the Chariot, and those rushing wheels,
That whirl’d the Prophet up at Chebar flood,
My spirit som transporting Cherub feels,
To bear me where the Towers of Salem stood,
Once glorious Towers, now sunk in guiltles blood;
There doth my soul in holy vision sit
In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatick fit.

VII

Mine eye hath found that sad Sepulchral rock
That was the Casket of Heav’ns richest store,
And here though grief my feeble hands up-lock,
Yet on the softned Quarry would I score
My plaining vers as lively as before;
For sure so well instructed are my tears,
They would fitly fall in order’d Characters.

VIII

I thence hurried on viewles wing,
Take up a weeping on the Mountains wilde,
The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring
Would soon unboosom all their Echoes milde,
And I (for grief is easily beguild)
Might think th’infection of my sorrows bound,
Had got a race of mourners on som pregnant cloud.

Note: This subject the Author finding to be above the yeers he had,
when he wrote it, and nothing satisfi’d with what was begun,
left it unfinish’d.