I was born at night tall like swagger cane
A Friday's child - delivered with muse
That was fortunate enough for my parents
Oral poetry poured plentiful in the morning

That's what Saturdays are good for
Teachers worn their loincloth lose
As wine and fish soup flowed at ease
While farmers set out to burn in the sun

Now you'll understand why I chose not to be
a Saturday's child, I dread to be a farmer
Heavy drinking may not be my fate as well
It sure sets the mood right for what's right

I took sides with either of the two vices
I pitched my tent where grace and virtues lies