"The Burl and Hilt Fight"

Dah doo doo doo, dah da da da,

Hilt swung high and Burl swung low,
Three girlfriends and two wives
Ducked for cover and found love-
Sons in chains marveled awake.

Bread bags full of weed and

Milk jugs full of moon brew-
More money crossed the old railroad
Than churchgoers on a Sabbath morn,
Forget King Cotton, meet King Corn!

“Don’t call me stupid,” Burl roared,

“Don’t call me a lar,” Hilt implored,
“Lar? What’s a lar?” Burl then asked.
“It’s a liar, you stupid git,” Hilt rasped.
(Refreshments courtesy of EFM)

Knuckles, knees, elbows, thumbs.

Heads, fists, feet, butts.
No atomic pile-drivers or other
Sissy-boy rasslin’ moves used now.
Burl smacked Hilt to death, somehow.

Rubber snakes and frozen weenies,

Make for a poor raising and numerous
Hees and haws and pooh pooh poohs
When shackled children get hauled in
Penal vans to custra-nutstra funerals.

“Over the hill, Hilt roamed the field,

Till bad whiskey one day sealed his deal.
Never call big men names my son,
Unless you have strong legs to run,
Or a honeybadger in your pants.”