Bo Grumpus Balls the Jack
Sugar plum, just bowl your cannonball
one bounce into my cellar. Been too peaceable lately. Your blind eye can sigh all
it wants, but it’s me the
singing icons kiss.
O Piney! Every dark scar
of ours hisses amiss. Can
anybody else whistle like this? Not in our plenipotentiary rags.
Old blue stovepipe gal, you glad we
toddled off to Toledo? There we were—pro-Pan-American Exposition all the
way–too tight!
Sure as born, this bourbon &
me team up—I’m the true Kentucky Fried. Now it’s off to Bogaloosa,
Pontchartrain, then back to Yazoo, just for your barbecue.
Just shoot your arrow through my
jail cell, while my Blue Devils still got your shack surrounded. You marching
thru Araby with me? Best never let the gentries know.
O dippermouth--I
dream bleeding blackberries. But in my heart, on my knees, the lit question–you
still want me back, notwithstanding my last gator wobble out of town?
