now a gal on the run
needs a little scratch
to live on
so
she quick pecked out a book
with a perky little ditty.
one that could be sung
one that would run
over and over
in your head.
sales took off
quite briskly
soon her tune could
be heard along every
school corridor.
kids of all ages
chanted and screamed
walking or riding
her very own call....
Hey!
You!
Yeaaahhh
you!
i say
you big fat bus
with the big fat yellow bootay
you’re in my way
i say
go on now
get outta my way.
get outta my way.
you big fat bus
with your big fat yellow bootay
get outta my way
big bootay
outta my way!
yellow bootay!
hey
hey
hey
now this refrain
quickly got old
for all the drivers
of the big fat busses
with the big fat yellow bootays.
it wasn’t long before
they were on the warpath
pitch forks and shovels
tire irons and more.
these enraged drivers
were out for blood
and broken bone,
which in her case
certainly meant
dripping oil,
broken glass and
twisted metal.
Some days she cried
why, oh, why,
did i ever
write that?
Other days
she didn’t give a hoot
not a single second
stinkin' thought.
but she still skirted
the cities and towns
right before
and right after
school was in session.
the money flowed in
and rather than gin,
she stopped for a sip
of high test
premium
fuel.
no margaritas
for this little senorita
with the Big Fat Yellow Bootay.
some afternoons late,
she would just set
a spell and wait,
sip that ole
high test,
watching the sun slide
below the horizon,
colors galore,
a magnificent painting,
different each
and
every
night.
still on the run
but having loads of fun,
she kept a keen eye out
for the man with the badge
and the gun.
reports abounded
about a bus that had
disappeared
one that had
absconded.
now no one thought
it could possibly
be,
only she,
all on her own.
so the lookout
was for some thief
to be caught.
a thief of the kind
with two hands
two wrists
and ten fingers.
hiding out
during the day
she would slip away
come the passin' of
the sun
most times.
rolling along
one
afternoon
between fields so wide,
she pulled in
by a shrub
and found a motorcycle
waiting.
"my pig’s gone
to take a leak.”
said the little motorcycle,
nodding to the trees
not far away.
(aside: the little motorcyle
referred to his pig in only the most
affectionate way.
which brings one to
wonder, from where did it arise
why is another word
synomous with cop,
pig?
pigs are so cute,
darling and sweet
and very intelligent.
makes no sense to me
when you are a looking
to be insulting,
to be calling a cop
a pig.)
she glanced on over
at the copse of trees
and set herself
in reverse gear.
"i owe you one
new little friend”
said she,
and as she rolled back onto
the road,
she gently did pat him
on his tight firm little
motorcycle
bootay!
"It’s a good day to die!”
she cried
as she sped off,
"not to mention
drive!"
and it was,
one fine day to drive!
if you have a hankerin' to read from the beginning... see the Collections, The Manly Cowboy & Chronicles of a Big Fat Yellow Bootay
