"gals" poems
This is a fictional account, but based
On truth for many women. I was,
Myself, abused by an ex-boyfriend.
---
Here's the ballad of Hammer Hand,
I'm here to spread it 'cross the land.
He loved to hit, as you can see.
What he hit was mainly me.
He was a brawler in the day,
But I left him where he lay.
This is for you gals out there
Who are hopeless, in despair,
Who are battered, made to kneel,
I do this so we both can heal.
I was kicked upside the head,
But now ol' Hammer Hand is *dead.
~~CHORUS~~
Hammer Hand, oh Hammer Hand,
Did beating me make you a man?
I have suffered your attack,
You have made me blue on black,
Your heart was black, my soul was blue,
Your soul was false, my heart was true.*
~~~~~~
Hammer Hand was tall and lean,
He was big, and ha was mean,
He would snack and he would punch,
Then he would demand his lunch.
He used to hit me when he drank,
His breath was fetid, his body rank,
Whenever help I'd try to seek.
He would hit me into next week.
~~~~~~
Hammer Hand is dead today
And this is what I have to say,
I told him when he broke my teeth,
He would pay and come to grief!
*Satan himself will take you down,
And you'll be six feet underground.*
~~ CHORUS ~~
I'm a woman so you're bold,
But Hammer Hand, you're getting old,
Hammer Hand you've had your fun,
But don't forget I have a SON.
You can make me black and blue,
But don't you go and hit him, too!
Don't make him hate you, make him mean,
Soon he will be seventeen.
You said a thing which I believe,
You said you'd **** me if I leave.
But me 'n Jamie gonna pack,
We're gonna leave and not come back.
When I die, at least I know,
Where I'm bound, which way I'll go!
Down inside you know as well,
You are goin' straight to hell.
Hammer Hand, O Hammer Hand,
Now we've left, are you so grand?
You won't hurt us anymore,
'Cause you're dead upon the floor.
I don't think that you'll survive,
Shot with your own 45,
It wasn't me, I'm not that brave...
*T'was Jamie put you in the grave.
At sixteen he was pale and shy
But he put a slug between your eyes.
You made him beg. You made him bow.
Well. I hope you're happy now.*
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) June 11, 2011
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 3:03 AM UTC
At home all alone
No one I can phone
Bread is now toasted
I'll just eat instead
Bread in place of love
If push comes to shove
Beers will be my pals
If there are no gals
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 7:04 PM UTC
Ever felt like life is unfair to you?
Ever felt like you've no true friends?
That the world is very cruel to you?
Got confused among who's your best friend?
Made bunch of friends but no one there in time of help?
Ever felt that way?
Ever felt mopey and dim-witted without a SLR , because everyone's busy changing their Dp's on FaceBook with one.
Ever felt like buying those 6 inches shoes ,though we'll never walk in it , but people got to see it ,right?
Ever felt like cutting internet connection from your house, because of that we're not able to achieve all the great conquests of life.
Ever felt like ,you've wasted all the opportunities life had given you and now you're futile , plus it's too late to start all over again?
Ever felt scared of telling that person that how much you like them?
Ever? Ever felt like you're ugly?
Ever felt like you're not one of those magical school guys or gals of Hogwards.
Ever felt like "No, you're not awesome." Ever felt like "I'm not in a relationship , am I that ugly?"
Ever felt like no one loves you?
Ever felt like the whole world is happy , but not you?
Ever felt like you **** in everything?
Ever felt like killing that person because ***** is flirting with the person you love?
Ever felt like to know what you're from other people's view? Well , that's life.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 8:55 AM UTC
I love da sound ya ***** does make
While slapping up against your sister, for Christ sake
Watching you all doing the ***** deed, doggy style
On ya momma's brand new, multi coloured **** pile
***** young boys, are forever slapping, keepin’ it real
While viewing ya ***** in ya year nine, high school classes
Even some curious gals, like to slip in a quick feel
While flashing their hallway entry, fancy gold passes
Da sound ya ***** makes, ya must be using an amplifier
With a **** load of flaming, boom-boom, bass
Next time though, try turning the treble up, as you were
And turning down that flaming bass, just in case
This mornin’, I woke up stiff, like feelin’ as if dead
Then flicked through the paper, my obituary, I just read
Didn't feel that great, after we had finished the missionary
Wish I was much more aware, like a future visionary
I haven't even ironed my clothes or done my face
For my very last day of this bright sunlight
Will I need to pack a jumbo suitcase
Or maybe just some shorts and thongs
On my mystery vacation, one-way flight
Da sound ya ***** was making when shaking
Was maybe way too loud for some, last night
It put me in, like a clothes dryer spin
Police came by, just to check that no one was pranking
With some spray with mace, just when I was about to sin
Everyone's got an unusual craze in life
Mine just happened to put me in a daze
Should've taken a much deeper breath
When going down between ya momma's thighs
Send flowers to my ******* and hoes
And never ever forget, ya ****** nice ways
Always tried to satisfy the whole **** world
But still hearing some sad **** woes
I like da sound ya ***** makes
Reminds me of some ole dance tracks
Played by the DJ, named Georgie O’Kay
While everyone dances to a beat
I'm hard at work, while trying to get ya
To get down lower and pretend to be ya momma.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 6:14 PM UTC
I know of just too many Cyclopes,
Let me describe one of them better,
The one who preys on values of men.
So miniature he is - mere few inches,
So often in our pockets he is found,
So crooked he is with a single eye.
When among beautiful babes & gals,
He is active getting used in clicking,
Also used up is he sometimes by fishy men for fishier purposes.
This Cyclops was filming one such similar affair with a lady unaware,
Stripped naked was her body exposed to that bare,
Trick or truth, clothed or naked, she thought not about this cyborg Cyclops filming her **** ever in her wildest of fears.
The young lady is then blackmailed by the Cyclops's master,
"Be quiet about it and serve us in our industry,"
Threatened with publishing publicly of the moments - she gives in to this blackmail.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
I'm telling lies to terrorize tame territory,
and so they'll strip me down, string me up, and bleed me dry of glory.
Mourning from the morning after, hanging from a ceiling rafter.
Two rows of platinum canines, call me a gangsta-veloci-rapper.
Truly emancipated, drinking whiskey from Lincoln's skull.
Proclamation of my bank roll grants more ***** than animal control.
Flicking cigarettes at MC's who think they're superior,
into their passenger window to burn holes in their interior.
I run all night, jiggle my handle after flushing.
All the plump gals seem to love me, I've got their cellulite a'blushing.
I don't like ***** but I'll sip on something Russian,
if you ship her in the mail first class from your Middle-Euro cousin.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
Am I asleep, am I awake?
When I saw you, I felt something so special
And all those daydreams where I pictured you
I've never felt like this before
Cause lately I've been dreaming about you a lot
Truly, Madly, Deeply I am falling for you
I'm not sure about what makes you so beautiful
But I know it's gotta be you
For you got that one thing within you
I wish we could stay up all night
So we can dance the best song ever
For me everything you do is magic
How I wish you were my last first kiss
Every time I see you my tongue gets tied
Cause you are so irresistible
I know that we've only met
But can we pretend it's love?
I wish you could be my summer love
Cause nobody compares to you
In the way you stole my heart
I may not be tall as Harry Styles
I may no possess Louis Tomlinson's angelic voice
I may never be as cool as Liam Payne
Or as cute as Niall Horan
I may not even wear my fedora as Zayn Malik does
I know that I am no part of One Direction and I never will be
But one thing's for sure, you are my one direction
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
Guys and gals,
Ladies and gents
I love to see the couples in love
Couples newly in love
Couples well into love
Couples who never thought they'd ever find it
Young couples
Old couples
Middle-of-the-road couples
Eye catching couples
Plain couples
Color blind in-love couples
Taller couples
Shorter couples
From alpha to omega couples
Couples who lost the love, but found it again
Couples who struggled on through
Couples who defied the odds
Maybe I'm peering through rose-colored pupils
Maybe my vision has gone radioactive
But I love to see such couples in love
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
Only those who have used an outhouse would appreciate this.
The Outhouse Poem by unknown author
The service station trade was slow
The owner sat around,
With sharpened knife and cedar stick
Piled shavings on the ground.
No modern facilities had they,
The log across the rill
Led to a shack, marked His and Hers
That sat against the hill.
"Where is the ladies restroom, Sir ?"
The owner leaning back,
Said not a word but whittled on,
And nodded toward the shack.
With quickened step she entered there
But only stayed a minute,
Until she screamed, just like a snake
Or spider might be in it.
With startled look and beet red face
She bounded through the door,
And headed quickly for the car
Just like three gals before.
She missed the foot log - jumped the stream
The owner gave a shout,
As her silk stockings, down at her knees
Caught on a sassafras sprout.
She tripped and fell - got up, and then
In obvious disgust,
Ran to the car, stepped on the gas,
And faded in the dust.
Of course we all desired to know
What made the gals all do
The things they did, and then we found
The whittling owner knew.
A speaking system he'd devised
To make the thing complete,
He tied a speaker on the wall
Beneath the toilet seat.
He'd wait until the gals got set
And then the devilish tike,
Would stop his whittling long enough,
To speak into the mike.
And as she sat, a voice below
Struck terror, fright and fear,
"Will you please use the other hole,
We're painting under here !"
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
There was an old man, I once knew
Peaches was the name he used
He was the drunk, set on our trunk
his body old and abused
Sharing his beer with an old horse
who caroused in the end stall
Each day by three, they'd walk by me
and stumble but never fall
His liver was a lace doily
alcohol pickled him thin
He'd been turned down, all over town
no one ever took him in
He drank his beer with ole Nellie
she could tip a bottle too
Swig and sway, like Don Quixote
as they staggered, swirling, brew
We were headed for the races
this blustery afternoon
Each planned the trip, we had to ship
I knew we'd be leaving soon
From where we trained at the fairground
we carted them to the track
Where all would race, and take what place
each earned in front or in back
Peaches rode in back of the truck
so he could drink the whole way
My uncle said, he'd soon be dead
drinking had seen his decay
We sat apart from others there
he and I were best of pals
He'd tell me tales, of life’s travails
while I ogled all the gals
That day he shared a sordid tale
of pain he caused his own son
He had shouldered blame, bore the shame
for this thing that he had done
Back when he was just a young man
a pillar of support
He took his boy, his life’s great joy
to play their favorite sport
They went to a picnic that day
he had drank one too many
On the way, to watch his son play
of fears he hadn't any
His boy was riding in the back
not thinking they skipped the seat belt
He'd rolled his car, the door ajar
surprise was all he had felt
His boy was tossed out in a field
sweet clover of timothy
The child's light hair, seen lying there
remembered so vividly
"I was a Veterinarian"
said Peaches to my surprise
"I went insane, called out in vain
but God never heard my cries"
"So now I ride where I belong
In back of my self-made bar
Hoping he, will come to take me
by tossing me from the car"
Just then a tear fell from his cheek
the pain enveloped me too
Here cried a man, much deeper than
any of us ever knew
Tate
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC
right now i'm thinking
about angry older gals
at the supermarket,
i'm thinking: shave the bush,
start a razor "wildfire"...
let's see your neck and your
chin, shave off that beard...
the crazy much older than
your supermarket attendees
are dropping the word
viking while you shop
for whiskey, onions and
tomatoes,
even the security guard is
looking at you funny...
your excuse of:
i became bored of shaving
is not going to work
on these women,
in their late 50s,
making all the talk the talk
and the talk being
small talk and
trebling in: i really just came
in here for a purchase,
i don't have the ***** to
do the small talk...
of course that's always besides
the point...
viking?!
how about a
zimmer frame?
god, small talk kills me,
i don't know how to make a chair out
of it to sit on for much longer than
feel comfortable longer
than 5 minutes on it...
and there's always one of these women
in the supermarket,
she just knows small-talk -
kleinsprechen...
while i know the großsprechen -
alternatively: stille (silence);
but she just insists upon
her solipsisms,
and she does so perfectly,
she talks, and even manages to reply
for me...
at least a monologue of
a madman is less claustrophobic
when you spot a solipsistic woman in
her antics,
at least the madman in his
monologue feeds you not claustrophobia...
given he's so self-engrossed in
imaginative cursor workings...
a madman's monologue never
morphs into a solipsistic claustrophobia
intimidation, notably within the guise
of women...
i'd prefer a madman oblivious to
me in his externalised monologue,
than a woman in a supermarket,
oblivious to her solipsistic take on dialogue
intimidation by restraining the other
in a pseudo-claustrophobia;
that famous echo chamber...
please, throw me into the cushioned
room with a madman, i'd rather hear
his monologue,
than her attempt at
a dialogue in a supermarket!
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 10:33 PM UTC
The Jester came to see the King one day ,
“these fools are no good they are full of dancing’.
Then the following day a joker came up to the king ,
“; these fools are no good for they are full of laughing .
And we are no good for we sit and moan for the crown we stole
has been a stolen .
The ring we borrowed ,
the knowledge we shared ,
the love we cherished ,
Is as loose as a hang mans noose .
The jester stands on our walls we built ,
just to tell us we are fools .
The joker on our bed laughs tingles his bells as we lay asleeping .
The minstrels have all but left to go a Caroling ,
the love we cherished lies
as empty as the grains of wheat to sodden to eat ,
to sodden to sell .
Christ’s love hangs in art
ripped flesh a truth of love lost
lies in rock umugst our sands .
We head off to the streets with laughter one foot to the right ,
the other to the left ,
the joker stands in the middle .
One foot to the left ,
then to the right
and we all sing lasciviously ,
as the plagues acoming ,
and we go asinging ,
for its. acarolling time ,
and it dos’nt lead to heaven .
For now the wine tastes sweet ,
and the barrels are dry ,,
our heads are kinda dizzy ,
We ***** and puke ,
then **** and poo as we
hung draw and quarter our souls as O
the boils will rise by the morning. The joker jokes ,
the jester sings ,
and we held hands ,
round and round and round we went
and it did not lead to heaven.
#Gals. Come home my dears come home my loves ,
for we will cook you pottage in the morning
and they didn’t end in heaven.
Men reply and we’ll all be dead by the mor ..ning #
And the boils arrived in the morning
and they didn’t. lead to heaven.
Jun 4, 2019
Jun 4, 2019 at 4:38 AM UTC
What have you come to admire?
says the cow
you guys and gals stand around
new to the farm
you say
ah, look at the horses
(memories of horse races
in the corners of your mind)
you look at the lambs
and you go soft and sweet;
"Oh, how cute," you say
(Cute my ***
Not so cute when you put
the meat over the barbecue pit, is it?)
You aliens look at the trees in the distance
and the sky clear and endless
and you drool: "Oh, what freedom!"
and then you come near me
and you whisper to your child
"...see, see cow...
milk comes from cow..."
and you come closer
with your progeny
and I show
you imbeciles
my rear and ****
and watch out
if you come too near
I do ****
and I have two hind legs
and it's best you back off:
my **** is as pretty a picture
as any of yours;
have a look at my posterior
and **** off
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 9:22 PM UTC
Even the most devout Christians
accept that Jesus was a guy
guys get ***** as do gals.
Yes, all of us have a creator in us
starlight
life-creating energy
poetry
and prose.
Maybe Jesus didn’t have the kind of darkness in him
that we have
the kind of drag
of pride and self-centeredness
that I have,
but by God!
he was faced with the same choices
between fidelity and desire
between horniness and selfless love.
Yep I fail in ways he did not
but he failed to get rid of lust just like I do
he failed to avoid selfish desires.
Of course, I act on them
and ***** up in ways he did not.
But do you think he didn’t feel ******* up at times?
Of course he did.
All of this humanity
is what makes me like him.
Jesus was a guy.
That he was more
is what makes me love him.
Mar 3, 2022
Mar 3, 2022 at 10:23 AM UTC
🪔🪔🪔THIS
DIWALI
There is enthusiasm all around us; busy is everyone, cleaning their home;
Hey guys n gals, we can't forget, to clean our hearts n minds, for life is a bubble; merely foam
Light a lamp, a diya let us, within our hearts, ignite love; no need there is, to temples roam
"Happy Diwali";
as we wish our dear ones, let's wish our selves too; for within us lives that Diwali Diya, n that "OM".
Armin Dutia Motashaw
Nov 9, 2023
Nov 9, 2023 at 1:34 PM UTC
Well it's a hell of a feeling and a sour deal.
Hangover wreaks havoc apon my gut.
Numb my thoughts to everything i feel.
She's got her reason's I got mine.
Hours between us.
Sunrise please dont find me sobber.
Or leave me busted near that florida state line.
Drinking with the devil satan give me such heck.
My life's a play.
My soul a well thought out trainwreck.
Well big hip gal wont ya warm this bed.
Cause ya know tommorows a gift.
So let's do something to remind tombstone
he isn't yet dead.
Work that back sugar dont think twice.
Little gals may be the norm.
But thoose sticks break so easy and thoose big gals
just feel so nice.
Southern are my ways New York's far from my mind.
Todays a scratch.
So thats why im leaving my wicked past behind.
Smoked and drank tonights pay.
Big gal i love ya.
But as for a drifters soul and me ya know i can never stay.
Found my troubles in mean angry eye's knocked
thoughts apon the deck.
My life's a gamble.
As in the rhymes of a full tome ****** and a
well thought trainwreck.
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 11:16 PM UTC
Faceless books relive life as pseudo-abbreviated scribes
the tip tapping of helvetica lies reporting banal times
falsified laughter coughed up between every three lines
Faceless books wasting precious time
gathering the masses for the fanfare of a couple of guys
and gals.
Crippled by conformity to fit within cyber-society for cyber-friends and cyber-lives, virtually living a virtual life without virtually living in the first place.
Posing pursed lips and filming grainy video clips
one-liners of the wall signers pretending to pretend to care to come off as they actually pretend to care to begin with.
Two hundred and plus empty entities and counting, the next person met can subscribe to my life now.
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 8:22 AM UTC
my name's mort
the third
and i sell the
bombs
after hours
me 'n' the boys
grab a bite of
carpaccio
the world is ours
but never yours
without the Wheel it
stops
ring around
guys 'n' gals
we'll give you the
deal
take all you want
sure, you can
pay us back next
year
May 19, 2021
May 19, 2021 at 11:58 AM UTC
Having never sought fulfilment
in the pursuit of being mother
my body is my temple
for use of no-one other
than my own indulged desires
of aesthetics, pleasure, fun,
so, yes, I fret the stretch marks,
the odd pimple on my ***
I obsess, in terms of thread veins,
for they make me feel unpretty,
so vain, if that doth make me,
I accept in all its gritty,
ugly notions – for us gals are meant to be
vessels of life-giving, all procreation’ry.
“Oh! I know my body’s purpose”!
the new mother’s apt to cry.
I shall not regret my choices
biologics tick… ticking by.
Does that mean our sad mechanics
are bereft of serving purpose?
It is no hard done-by chore,
our childlessness not cursed us.
When I stand, unclothed and natural
my body has a story
I don’t need the marks of childbirth
to feel a sense of glory.
All this talk of ‘battle scars’
babies sure sound painful,
but, forgive me, all you mothers
should I dare to sound disdainful.
It’s just I feel no less a woman
for not having given birth,
and there is no singular purpose
for this body on this earth.
Like living in a desert
enduring shifting sands,
the bits I’ve never really liked
I cover up with clothes and hands.
I’ve no need to ‘love my body’, thanks
I’m just fine with friendly banter.
Angles, poise and lighting
three small words – a mighty mantra.
Self-love is overrated
when costume is the thing,
and my body wears it well, you see,
and the pleasure that it brings
is proof enough that any scars
may be healed to nothing
without the need for motherhood
and its pushy, panting, puffing.
So curse my sour dismissives!
I’m all said and done,
the female form has every purpose
babies ain’t the only one.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
They came from the deep sky
with conquest in their eye
not content with the trees
they were here to squeeze
us
Drove us underground
put us in zoos
wailing and gnashing our only sound
hairy devils they ate Gary Neville..
tried to eat Vinnie Jones
He ate them, burped, and spat out all the bones
"Oi! monkey breath!" his battle cry
He rallied humanity he would not let us die...
Got riled up, called in his Hollywood pals
started kicking-ass and seducing gals
Rowdy Roddy Piper and Van-Damme
left those flying monkeys
looking like chewed ham
They released mankind from slavery
saving us from certain doom
The Fall of The Flying Monkeys
in a theatre near you soon.....
Feb 1, 2011
Feb 1, 2011 at 5:21 AM UTC
1
*Recently prolific
Writing reactions*…
Yeah, not prolific producing babies
or sowing wild oats
Just this unimaginative, pedestrian activity:
*Writing reactions
Still prolific at my age….*
2
explicit?
No, no, no - me no explicit…
don’t have the ***** to be that
but everything is implicit
like if I write about some aspect of life
it’s all there:
the routine, *** violence, and so on
isn’t everything implicit?
3
*POETS
New and popular*
OK...
how about the
*POETS
New and Unpopular*?
4
OK, I like this guy or gal,
right?
and so I click on LIKE
and the next time I look at it
it says: LIKED
Hey, I still LIKE her!
Look, I still LIKE him!
And why can’t I click on LIKE on my own page?
What’s the matter, can’t I like myself?
Is that a strange notion –
Don’t you guys and gals like yourselves?
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 5:01 PM UTC
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
1. Take care of your teeth and gums
Brush & floss, everyday (Seriously)
Keep your teeth, if at all possible.
They are your very own precious Ivory.
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
2. a. Eat well. Do not deny your body
nourishment. Gals, you will want a nice
set of ***** Trust me...eat.
b, Try to not put on too much extra weight.
(no judgement here) Just that it is very
hard on your body. Ridiculously
difficult to lose when you're older.
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
3. Love the skin you live within. Try not to
bake your bareness too long in the sun,
or burn your precious epidermis.
Cleanse, exfoliate. Most of all, drink plenty of water and moisturize, moisturize, moisturize
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
4. Hang on to all of your bones.
You will miss them when they are gone
Take care of your hands, neck, hips and knees.
Once your joints wear out, it's a total ******
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
5. Keep movin' and groovin'.
If you stay still too long, you will get stuck
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
6. Find the humor in everything. It is there!
All of life's lessons placed before you.
When all else fails, you can laugh about it.
(Trust Me. Your going to need this one)
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
~Christi Michaels~May 2015~
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 4:38 AM UTC
Cyrus was a butcher,
the ladies thought him sweet,
and when they spoke,
the gals would joke
about old Cyrus' meat.
But soon the missus told 'em,
her one and only beef-
forget the size
or how he'd rise,
Old Cyrus was too brief.
His brother, Clive, the baker,
a young and heavy lad,
was paid no mind
by womankind
cause of the weight he had.
But soon the missus told 'em,
with a twinkle in her eye,
Forget the size,
or how he'd rise,
that boy could eat a pie!
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
I spent my early life
Looking out from behind
The chain link fence on the turkey farm
There they fed me right
Fattened up my thighs
After all, what could be the harm
If it was up to me
I would never leave
It's where I prefer to spend my years
But alas will come the day
When all good turkey's have to say
Arrivederci...I am outta here
I was born to be a Butter Ball
Unlike those sloppy pigs that live next door
To be a tender turkey is my call
And all you want to do is eat me
Yes, you wanna eat me
They just took Turkey Jack
To the shed out back
Where we never heard from him again
Just like yesterday
With my friend Turkey Dave
Strange they haven't messed with Turkey Slim
Am I the next in line
Could this here be my time
My head placed on the chopping block
As I say my goodbyes
To all the gals and guys
I gobble to Mary Lou as an after thought
I was born to be a Butter Ball
So delicious they're coming back for more
Tenderized to the very core
All they want to do is eat me
I was born to be a Butter Ball
A slap in the face to the Honey Ham
To be a tinder turkey is my call
Heavy on the gravy with a side of yams
Now that you know my tale
I hope I told it well
Enjoy this day with your family and your friends
So remember then
Don't leave the stuffing in
And dinner will go the way that it was planned
I was born to be a Butter Ball
The highest honor of them all
Into the open oven I must fall
Cause all you want to do is eat me
Yes, all you wanna do is eat me
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 8:14 AM UTC