you can write a poem on a piece of paper
you can catch a fish with a worm
you can ask people to listen to your poems
and watch the poor creatures squirm
i wrote a poem about the sunset
though i never go to bed
the pillow on the bed was pearly white
and the sunset was cherry red
noah built an ark of wood
jonah was swallowed by a whale
my papa called himself a preacher
but they still threw him in jail
my mama washed rich folks underwear
and hung them on the line
i polished st peter’s brogans
and he saw his face in the shine
all you lords and ladies
in your gowns and powdered wigs
you’ll have a hard time getting into heaven
though your bankrolls are ever so big
o listen to my sad story
and take heed of my fate
i ate all st christopher’s biscuits
there is nothing left on his plate
No comments:
Post a Comment