Poems and Song

Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to get her poor, hungry, starving dog a bone
And when she got there, the cupboard was bare and the poor, hungry, starving dog—bit her in the ass
They don't write like that no more

Let's sing something—they don't have those tunes like they used to years ago
"Oh, give me a home, where the buffalo roam"—and that don't make sense, not a bit
You show me a home, where the buffalo roam, and I'll show you a home full of shit
Home—everybody—home, home on the range, where the deer—don't you like folk music? (I don't know it) You don't know it? Well, folk it. Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word..."
Oh, a toast, show me a milk man with high-heeled shoes, and I'll show you a dairy queen. Oh, that's the type of stuff you like, I didn't know that. Another little toast—what's better than a tiger in your tank? Lipstick on your dipstick.

I like women over 40—they don't yell, they don't tell, they don't swell, and they grateful as hell.

The definition of indecent—when it's in long and it's in hard and it's in deep, then it's in-decent.