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by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here

they live on the hill where little birds sing they go everywhere and have everything they sit by the pool butlers bring drinks they don’t care what anyone thinks with a flick of the ash of their big cigars they shake the earth and put out the stars they live high on the hog high on the hill they leave no pies on their window sill their names are henry and henrietta you think you know but they know better you cry for your pa you can weep for your ma but the hillside answers ha ha ha next