"skunks" poems
nobody loses all the time
i had an uncle named
Sol who was a born failure and
nearly everybody said he should have gone
into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could
sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell Itself which
may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle
Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable
of all to use a highfalootin phrase
luxuries that is or to
wit farming and be
it needlessly
added
my Uncle Sol’s farm
failed because the chickens
ate the vegetables so
my Uncle Sol had a
chicken farm till the
skunks ate the chickens when
my Uncle Sol
had a skunk farm but
the skunks caught cold and
died and so
my Uncle Sol imitated the
skunks in a subtle manner
or by drowning himself in the watertank
but somebody who’d given my Uncle Sol a Victor
Victrola and records while he lived presented to
him upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a
scruptious not to mention splendiferous funeral with
tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything and
i remember we all cried like the Missouri
when my Uncle Sol’s coffin lurched because
somebody pressed a button
(and down went
my Uncle
Sol
and started a worm farm)
132k
Midnight’s glowing solstice moon
From moonrise to moonset-
She feels, hears, sees
Magic, crickets, skunks, dew-
She’s summer.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the hills
The kinfolk were drinkin' as they tend to their stills
The longjohns were hung by the chimney with care
No stockings were found, just underwear
The children were nestled so high in their bunks
Their quilts made of skins from rabbits and skunks
Granny with her false teeth and gun on her knee
Was waiting for Santa as she sat by the tree
From out of the barn there arose such a noise
We thought it was Grandpa drinkin' with the boys
But what to my wandering eye should appear
It was just cousin Cleatus in mama's brassiere
And then from the rooftop we heard it at last
Like the sound of thunder or a shot gun blast
We have Christmas dinner, it's finally here
Granny kidnapped Santa while we shot his deer
Venison all covered with onions for stew
And even old Santa enjoyed some too
His belly was full when he walked out the door
But he couldn't resist when we offered him more
Well that's the story of our Christmas here
Merry Christmas to all 'til the same time next year
© All Rights Reserved
Dec 8, 2010
Dec 8, 2010 at 7:17 AM UTC
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the hills
The kinfolk were drinkin' as they tend to their stills
The longjohns were hung by the chimney with care
No stockings were found, just underwear
The children were nestled so high in their bunks
Their quilts made of skins from rabbits and skunks
Granny with her false teeth and gun on her knee
Was waiting for Santa as she sat by the tree
From out of the barn there arose such a noise
We thought it was Grandpa drinkin' with the boys
But what to my wandering eye should appear
It was just cousin Cleatus in mama's brassiere
And then from the rooftop we heard it at last
Like the sound of thunder or a shot gun blast
We have Christmas dinner, it's finally here
Granny kidnapped Santa while we shot his deer
Venison all covered with onions for stew
And even old Santa enjoyed some too
His belly was full when he walked out the door
But he couldn't resist when we offered him more
Well that's the story of our Christmas here
Merry Christmas to all 'til the same time next year
© All Rights Reserved
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 8:14 PM UTC
Yeah it's one shot one ****
Plottin' against my enemies will soon to be killed
Bullets feedin' ya last meal
Dope rhymes sedatin' like pharmacy pills
Since hataz got no chill heads I'll drill now you leakin' out like oil spills
Or a radiator angelic caters none could create a
Flows nasty as mine poppin' a multiplicity of shells I'm one of a kind
Thoughts intertwined
****** into a demons intervention contenders in suspension from the soul lynching
Caught in the realms of heaven and hell & you can smell
The ashes burning fermentin'
time runnin' slower than molasses
My murders be classic enemies dramatic causin' static
Shoot more than Bird combined with Magic
Workin' my Johnson on the tracks tonsils sittin' as a hip hop consul underground magul
**** longer than Repunzels hair follicles
Cookin' up sigils into a *** of gold no rainbow snortin' sir nose
D'void of Funk rattlin' the earth from the bass in my trunk blazin' skunks
Abraxas I'm embracin' one of my goetias when facin' ain't no replacin'
Fools givin' chase
and to tastes of demonic faces
My flows replenish like **** laces
Blunts turn into ashes dump it out on the masses
Epidemic mase deaden your pace hazardous like toxic waste
Adversaries don't wanna face
Off like Nicolas to Travolta livin' in an ultra violent culture
Cleatin' into ya flesh I be the stalkin' Vulture mulchin' ya
'til ya
A dissembled particle blank photo in the article from curvin' emcees with my surgical
lyrical sickle stare into ya eyes as the blood trickles
Down ya body you easily brickled rhymes artificial
My soul sour as a pickle no tickles
Could move me or influence thee my legacy
Lay cinematography like A. Hitchcock in the 50s huh
Ya soon to be a death reel for thrills
Rememeber
All I need is one shot one **** forreal!!!!
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 4:57 PM UTC
OHIO MY HOME
Ohio my childhood home
a simpler life
an innocent time
a place where corn fields go on for miles and miles
the fields wave and sway beckoning you
to make secret forts in their midst
the original corn maze
in there we eat cow corn
never thinking to ask
was it fresh or clean?
it was organic at its best
playing in the water down at the “crick”
no such worries of a chemical spill
no one got sick
no parents around
nobody drowned
tornadoes come by
what a scary thrill
mother nature at her worst
toppling trees each way
providing us a strange place to play
in between the branches
we made our mansions
safe maybe not...
but we played anyway
far from the city lights
we spend our nights
watching natural sights
fireflies glowing looking for love
the tree frogs are singing out for a mate
mother raccoons bring their young from the nest
skunks delight us with their odorous best
in an eerie alien fog
ufo’s hovering over the
tall trees in the front yard
all under the moons sight
as i close my eyes i can see
Ohio my memory home
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 4:26 PM UTC
I am drunk
why do they say as a skunk?
I've never seen a drunk skunk
I've never seen a skunk.
I'd like to see the sea with a skunk.
Go sailing, drink *** look for mer skunks and then say: 'me and the skunk were drunk'
That would be funking good drunking!
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the hills
The kinfolk were drinkin' and tending their stills
The longjohns were hung by the chimney with care
No stockings were found, just underwear
The children were nestled so high in their bunks
Their quilts made of skins from rabbits and skunks
Granny with her false teeth and gun on her knee
Was waiting for Santa as she sat by the tree
From out of the barn there arose such a noise
We thought it was Grandpa drinkin' with the boys
But what to my wandering eye should appear
It was just cousin Cleatus in mama's brassiere
And then from the rooftop we heard it at last
Like the sound of thunder or a shot gun blast
We have Christmas dinner, it's finally here
Granny kidnapped Santa while we shot his deer
Venison all covered with onions for stew
And even old Santa enjoyed some too
His belly was full when he walked out the door
But he couldn't resist when we offered him more
Well that's the story of our Christmas here
Merry Christmas to all 'til the same time next year
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 11:09 AM UTC
So come everybody throw ya hands
In the air for me
If y'all feelin this jubilee
O yea so lets get back to the actions
Satisfaction
Of celebrities got ya main attraction
No actin I'm packing
Gats to baseball bats and who dat?
Call me poetry wack splat
Goes through ya back bullet hole
Filljn those
Empty spots ya can't touc what's hot
I got reps like birdie
Above the rim lace blunt with traces
Of v slims
Who can stop me if my potency
Is near infinite
I'm embedded in ya melon eternally
Too cool for y'all to see I be
With this jubilee a juvenile
Born in the wild never smiled as child
All I wanted was a few toys from micky ds
Could barely afford cheese
Make tracks sneeze when I breath
Got thick chicks from here all the way to Belize
Please don't be ignorant
Just throw ya hands up to this anthem
Ya can't phantom
The jubilee is slammin-
Come on
Not that the time is right
Refocused my sight the black knight
Knocking outsights now ya braille as **** for trynA **** with
The m o b s t e r ghetto star
All hands on the r
Ruger luger quick to shoot ya scoop ya
Out of the scene like ice cream
One man team
Don't need a **** near friend in need
Please believe
I got backups like traffic
Hit the skins is automatic cuz static
To radio station they hate me
Cuz I don't participate in ********
I'm concerned with
These ***** *** punks running politics
Donald Trump I gotta automatic thAt loves to dump
Throw his *** in the trunk
Puff skunks I'm slammin on the gas
Like an alley oopp dunk full of *****
Dikes to lesbians all want a piece of me
I ain't cocky but stocky like Rocky
Picket pock me ill find thee
Restin peace to my enemies
That couldn't get to me
I'm hater proof so y'all just throw ya hands in the air for me
And represent this jubilee ahh. Come on
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 12:01 PM UTC
I mourn for skunks.
The squashed, flattened masses
***** mashed, their stripes scattered
Matted masks disguising unseeing eyes
Through how many fields have they run?
Once sweet babies, small noses, downlike fur
fleeing to their final place from green leafed bowers in a terrible act of asphalt bait n' switch
Let us all grieve the sacrifice which,
Unto the motor gods
Has been served.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 3:10 PM UTC
Everybody has those days
you know the one's I mean
where no matter what you try and do
you just stand back and scream
plans go all asunder
and things go all to hell
You should have stayed under the covers
shut your eyes, ignored the bell
You've had them, that I'm sure of
When the toast burns, coffee too
The dog ate the kids homework
What are you supposed to do?
The car door was left open
It won't start, but that's all right
Because someone stole the left side tires
While you were sleeping through the night
One step forward
Three steps back
The dance of all concerned
One step forward
Three steps back
Move fast or you'll get burned
Water running down the staircase
The toilet overflowed once more
not to mention all the water
behind the locked bathroom door
it's great the kids are learning
the different things in this world wide
like how different things will happen
when you let a skunk in from outside
a stiff drink would be lovely
would make the problem disappear
but, your oldest drank your whiskey
and you've only got two near beer
skunks and cars, and broken phones
just a day in all our lives
that's why doctors tell new husbands
time to lock up all the knives
One step forward
Three steps back
The dance of all concerned
One step forward
Three steps back
Move fast or you'll get burned
The dance is one we all know
best intentions laid to rest
you'll never quite get where you're going
until you first pass all the tests
just smile and keep moving
don't let it get you down
the dance is not selective
it picks on everyone in town
remember..
One step forward
Three steps back
The dance of all concerned
One step forward
Three steps back
Move fast or you'll get burned
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
There are skunks in there
every night burrowing
into the yawning parts
of my wife’s dream-filled mind.
Night by night, their numbers increase—
as black as her stare,
as pure as her smile.
Backs that bear the white-tipped
senses of God.
They float through as an endless
dark stream
that glistens with my motives,
and confirms my drunken pleasures—
beaming out the secrets of my every move,
my grief,
my thorns.
The truth
is a cage.
My mind
is my dungeon.
She says the skunks are the alcohol.
I say they’re the dogs.
She says maybe they’re everything.
And she was gone before I could move.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 12:08 PM UTC
Written November 2008
Somtimes when I get bored
My mind starts to wander.
My head flies away to faraway lands
Filled with talking bunnies, skunks, and squirrels
And ticking clocks
Swallowed up.....by alligators.
But even in this rhelm
Of extraordinary things
There is still that boy
Who runs away from me;
My prince charming.
I call to him, To let me in;
To know the secrets in his head.
But still he flies
Into the skies
Of Never-Never Land.
Aug 3, 2011
Aug 3, 2011 at 7:10 AM UTC
4am and my eyes are killing me,
and I'm dull and sore and ****
**** **** **** ****
Leaning against an arcade booth
of Street Fighter 2 watching them
dance in green lazer lights.
We decided to go back to her friend's place.
Her friend got wine,
he got beer.
He ****** in the bushes.
Admitted he was drunk.
On the roof of her friend's apartment,
I ****** down a cold coffee,
and we played acoustic music.
We climbed higher on the roof.
They smoked and drank,
and just generally shot the ****
Something bad happened between him and her;
she ran off crying, he's calling her a child, a baby.
He's pretending he's not mad,
pretending he's in control of his emotions
while lashing out.
Throws a beer bottle,
decides to leave. She
practically begs him for a ride home.
Me and her friend want so badly for her
to stay. Stay.
She leaves with him.
Drunk and ****** to drive her home.
I start walking home soon after.
I get lost on a street.
It's 2am and I'm jumping up and down
waving my hands, trying to get someone
to just tell me where I am.
A man across the street must be taking out garbage,
I walk across the street and say, "Excuse me sir?"
He shouts, "No! Go back across the street! NO!"
like I'm a ******* wild animal.
I ask him, "Can you just tell me where Bluestone is?"
He tells me to go north.
His input is useless.
I hope he dies of pancreatic cancer.
I kick a can and yell, **** all of you, collectively!"
to the suburban nightmare I'm trapped in.
"I hope they nuke this ******* **** stain neighborhood!"
Kick an empty Arizona can in contempt and disgust.
I have a small monologue with myself
and almost break down on the sidewalk.
Walk back to practically where I came from,
and take the long way home.
On my way I pass a stranger who asks, "Dig?"
No ******* idea what they meant.
I dodge the skunks and grab a hubcap.
Wanted a trinket.
I think I'm gonna have a ******* aneurism.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 4:49 AM UTC
When peace finally comes
A softness in the winds
The fires are gone
The quiet has come
Except for the nightbirds
which sing their songs
The shadows get long
Children's egos disintegrate
Meltdowns fry the atmosphere
The skunks come out
Moonlight after twilight
Sometimes to linger
Call out to the coyotes
Get old but stay young.
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 8:47 PM UTC
Ross was a fullblooded
bronze-skinned buddy
from the Navajo Nation.
He was a diehard Okie,
and a machine gunner,
carried the M-sixty
with twenty pounds
of extra belted-ammo.
He was a big guy,
had brown deep-set eyes,
high cheeks and
not a single hair
on his burly body,
but some high and tight
pitch bristles on his head.
He had a weakness.
Pure Straight Whiskey.
Whenever he had too much,
he was an F5 tornado,
a wild Tasmanian devil,
to be reckoned with.
I remember when he had
his front top teeth knocked out
by some civilian bouncers
at a local drinking establishment.
He kicked the **** out of
three huge muscle guys.
It was him versus them.
A regular melee.
Ross won.
Once on a Saturday night,
drunk as skunks,
we made an illegal turn
on the Interstate south of Denver.
We ended up flying down the highway
with four hundred feet of wire
attached to wooden poles,
sent sparks flying everywhere.
I never saw a guy laugh
so hard in all my life.
He ****** himself hysterically.
We gave Ross his first Native American name.
We were out in the field,
just hanging out
in battle gear,
shooting the ****
around our APC.
We called him Prancing Moose,
Moose for short.
He loved it when
we called him that,
gave us a toothless grin.
He was a warrior to us.
In another time and place,
he might have been a Chief.
He was courageous,
fearless and
a good friend
to have in your side.
From time to time,
I think about him,
and pray he's okay,
still alive.
He was our blood brother.
We were in hell together.
I miss him, too.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
He he ha ah, ah ah –
no, no, no – no I’m not tipsy…
Who says so ? I can drink and
still walk a straight mile
Yeah, I’m delirious, am I?
I’m delirious that’s
because you’re funny, silly
cos you’ve got three skunks
where your mouth should be
and your nose is a dead tree….
Ha ha he he
hey, anyone reasonable can tell I’m not tipsy;
really
I can drink till grandma comes back
from Heaven and still stay calm and steady
and she screamed the other day:
‘Hey, sonny boy…when you drink
airmail some of the spirit up here to me…
It gets too sane up here in Heaven.’
And what’s that you say?
You too think I’m tipsy? Hee, hee, hah ah **
What’s the matter
You people never seen anyone happy?
Tipsy?...no way, man….I’m just me, yeah
happy and easy-going
I swear the last time I drank was at my wedding
Which was when?
Bet my wife’ll remember the date and year…and place…
and if it happened at all..
and I’m laughing, it seems, oddly
cos you’ve got a donkey head
and your wife looks like a monkey on heat
He he ha ah, ah ah –
no, no, no – no I’m not tipsy
I swear the last time I drank was
when your grandma gave birth to
what was it, her twentieth baby?
Says who, ah? I can drink and
still walk a straight mile
and look at you, you’re looking
like a pink pig with its posterior
all barbecued on a dinner plate
ready for the fork and pepper and sauce;
and hey, I swear the last time I drank was
when you drowned
in the swimming pool;
it was our office function
and you drowned in the hotel pool
and you were struggling and you said:
**** **** Help me!’
and you drowned and died….
I really hate talking to drowning ghosts…
Booo…BOOOOOO….
He he ha ah, ah ah –
No, no, no – no I’m not tipsy
who says so ? I can drink and
still walk a straight mile
Say, can you call me a taxi
and spare, say, a fifty?
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 3:37 PM UTC
There's woods outside of town aways
that I will not go near
There's tales of ghosts and monsters
And I don't like the things I hear
There's screeching noises unlike those
Any animal can make
Even in the daylight
Those woods just make me shake
I've heard tales of people who
Let their dogs out after dark
They come back, all scared and skittered
And they never ever bark
There's something in those woods I say
Strong magic is around
There's tales of children disappearing
Never to be found
Three years ago I walked on past
And I heard a noise....real close
I swore something was watching me
It may have been a ghost
On Halloween, the woods light up
With magic from within
No one dares to venture there
They'll not be seen again
Some nights when the moon is full
The noises fill the air
Of screeching, howling wild beasts
Of things covered in hair
I've only seen one bird around
The entrance to the wood
It's a single, lonely raven
And to me that isn't good
Raccoons, and skunks and squirrels
I never see them near this place
It's inhabited by demons
It's never known god's grace
The stories aren't the sort that
Make you want to see
What is in the woods that howls
I won't go in ...not me
The woods have always been there
And the stories have been too
I know the sounds scare me to death
And I'm sure, they'd scare you too
Don't venture near the woods at night
Don't go there in the day
Just leave them to their darkness
It's just best to stay away
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
what were you doing near my house Coyote?
were the poachers chasing you off?
Did the rumbles of trucks scare you inland?
I have an arroyo as my neighbor
with jack rabbits and snakes
with crickets the size of urban cockroaches
barely any humans
only the ones true to nature walk the rocky trail
but you...
I am confused Mr Coyote
why were you not coming from the arroyo?
You cannot buy food at the Albertsons
and the gas stations dont let you in
The village inn wont serve you
and the campus is sealed by skunks and their ghastly---wind
Fast food makes no sense to you
all your food is fast
so I'm lost in where youre coming from
old friend
the native spirit of my soul
has come once again
Old coyote
As if you had been lost in the residential homes of El Chuco
and simply searching for me.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
i am sitting on the bridge i grew up on, where it smells like skunks. no one minds. i am listening to four creatures soaring way over head. then there's the crickets, the tree frogs, the breeze through the leaves. the soft brushing of this pen hitting the paper. my breaths through a stuffy nose, leaves interrupting the creek's flow, ever so slightly, a few rocks and branches deciding it's time to change location from the top of the hill, to the bottom, and a comforting whistle i cannot identify. and that one being, maybe a tree frog, that sounds like maracas shaking or a basking tambourine. the footsteps of a stranger, maybe a friend, but the rhythm sounds foreign, heavy. when i close my eyes, it's now Mt. Pocono 1998. i am there. acorns and pine cones introducing themselves to earth. all the spiders in the world building their webs, their homes, the whispery rushed sound. and if you listen long enough, someone mowing their lawn, another driving too fast, always in a hurry, could be anyone. all i know at this point is, it's not me
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 11:09 PM UTC
Nobody Loses All The Time
nobody loses all the time
i had an uncle named
Sol who was a born failure and
nearly everybody said he should have gone
into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could
sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell Itself which
may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle
Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable
of all to use a highfalootin phrase
luxuries that is or to
wit farming and be
it needlessly
added
my Uncle Sol’s farm
failed because the chickens
ate the vegetables so
my Uncle Sol had a
chicken farm till the
skunks ate the chickens when
my Uncle Sol
had a skunk farm but
the skunks caught cold and
died and so
my Uncle Sol imitated the
skunks in a subtle manner
or by drowning himself in the watertank
but somebody who’d given my Uncle Sol a Victor
Victrola and records while he lived presented to
him upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a
scruptious not to mention splendiferous funeral with
tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything and
i remember we all cried like the Missouri
when my Uncle Sol’s coffin lurched because
somebody pressed a button
(and down went
my Uncle
Sol
and started a worm farm)
—by ee cummings
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
I'm a homeless skunk
wandering in the jungle.
dwelling in bushes and trees
shrugging to make a living.
I don't have a place called home,
Running and sick of pleasing.
I won't eat dinner
because I'm not one in the listing.
I don't have a private space
to store my valuable belongings
Neither nor for rest,
where an old sofa is my bedding.
Hard work and passion isn't an issue
and I crave for good sleep.
Peanut is what I got
During month ends and second week
I'm in a big hole of trouble
but I'm not backing off.
Problems are a common thing
when you're in a sliding slope.
Say, There is a *** of gold
in a little powder shed of understanding.
when fixing of the broken cracks,
is needing much help and pleading
And I lost a lot of friends,
but gained a few that's real,
Skunks themselves wandering
looking for a home and a heal.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
When we last saw Noah,
He was about to embark
On a long, stormy journey
Aboard his mighty ark.
For forty days and nights
The heavens constantly drained
Their waters upon the earth,
For it rained and rained and rained--
Covering the towering Mt. Everest,
And the great Kilimanjaro.
Noah exclaimed, "It's raining
Like there's no tomorrow!"
Ham and Shem said, "Dad,
With our small, measly crew,
Feeding one million species
Is kind of hard to do."
Noah pointed outside
And looked at his sons and said,
"I suppose instead of in HERE,
You'd rather be out there--dead!"
That shut up the boys
Who attended to their tasks,
Saying, "We're feeding the lions
In case anyone asks."
Shem whispered to Ham,
"I like that lion, but she
Is always licking her chops
Whenever SHE sees ME!"
Ham said, "That kangaroo,
Who looks so calm and mellow,
Has a nasty kick.
He's not a very nice fellow."
After many days,
The waters receded; then Yay!
They were back on dry land;
All could go their own way.
The Bengal tigers went east;
The penguins headed south;
The skunks and beavers went west--
According to word of mouth.
Noah grabbed an animal
For a sacrifice quick and succinct,
And turned to his sons saying, "Oops!
I JUST made one species extinct."
Ham, Shem, and Japheth,
Had little time for mirth,
For now it was up to them
To repopulate the earth.
Growing grapes for wine
To Noah was time well spent,
Until he got drunk and naked--
All sprawled out in his tent.
Walking in on his father,
Ham saw a sight not so splendid
And ended up with a *** deal--
(Silly pun intended)--
For Noah cursed poor Ham
For having walked in on him.
So what if a guy saw him naked;
Hadn't he been to a gym?
Actually, the curse
Was more on Canaan, Ham's son.
How had poor Canaan managed
To be the guilty one?
I guess that's the nature of curses;
They don't always make much sense.
There also wasn't a lawyer
To come to Canaan's defense.
To live to be 950
Requires a very strong ticker.
But Noah had a weakness:
Trouble holding his liquor.
- by Bob B
*Sequel to "Noah's Dilemma"
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC
How wonderful to live in Freeport, Maine
Where beautiful women and handsome men
In youth eternal rock their five-bar boots
And flannel shirts in happy, snowy scenes
Where laughter echoes through those forest glades
Forever free of electrical lines
Skunks burrowing under the cabin floor
And neighbors’ overflowing septic tanks
Oh, what a dreamy life for you and me
In Freeport, Zip Code 04033!
(Just having a little fun; everything I’ve bought from L.L. Bean’s catalogue is wonderful! I’d love to live in the perfect New England scenes depicted in the catalogue. If you squint your eyes carefully you can see Bob Newhart’s inn on page…)
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
jingle splat, christmas song
jingle splat jingle splat
splatting all the day
falling on a nice cream pie
cheering all the way
jingle splat jingle splat
cheering for the mob
oh yeah, the big party dude
splatting all day long
you see on christmas eve
2 fat people have a dance
lifting up their body yeah
just to go splat on the floor
then they got right up
after 5 minutes on the ground
and then some cruel teasers said
they were the fattest people in town
ya see we go jiggle splat jingle splat
all over the dance floor, yeah
ya see we wanted to be thin my friend
but the forces of evilly made us fat
a day or 2 ago
we drank 2 bottles of egg nog oh yeah
and we got as drunk as skunks
and boy, our bellies were growing a lot
and we could hardly see our toes
as we ate the christmas cake
and then 2 ladies walked right past them
and they were as skinny as a rake
we go jingle splat jingle splat
all over the ****** floor
but we were so ****** fat
we could hardly fit through the door
jingle splat jingle splat
christmas day is near
this is the day, we splat around ya know
eating fatty food all the day
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC