Some say it is super
Some say it is silly
We hear it works great
for a limp-acting Willie
You’ve heard no doubt
Of a starch called Niagara
We found out by chance
It’s what’s contained in Viagara
At ten dollars a pop
This seems like a buy
But can you suggest it
To your impotent guy?
It’s side effects aren’t charted
It may be too iffy
But what some men won’t do
For a good old-fashioned stiffy.
They past an ordinance in the town
Said we’d have to tear it down
That little brown shack out back so dear to me
Though the health department said
It’s day was over and dead
It will stand forever in my memory
Don’t let ’em tear that little brown building down
Don’t let ’em tear that little brown building down
Don’t let ’em tear that little brown building down
There’s not another like it in the country or the town
It was not too long ago
That I went tripping through the snow
Out to that house behind my old hound dog
Where I’d sit me down to rest
Like a snow bird on her nest
And read the Sears and Roebuck catalog
I would hum a happy tune
Peeping through the quarter moon
Just like my Pappy’s kin had done before
It was in that quiet pot
Daily cares could be forgot
And it gave the same relief to rich and poor
It was not a castle fair
I could build my future there
Build castles to the yellow jacket’s drone
I could orbit round the sun
Fight with General Washington
Or be a king upon his own throne
It wasn’t fancy built at all
Had newspapers on the wall
It was air conditioned in the wintertime
It was just a humble hut
But it’s door was never shut
And a man could get inside without a dime
Written by Billy Edd Wheeler
The devil wanted a place on earth
Sort of a summer home
A place to spend his vacation
Whenever he wanted to roam.
So he picked out Texas
A place both wretched and rough
Where the climate was to his liking
And the cowboys hardened and tough.
He dried up the streams in the canyons
And ordered no rain to fall
He dried up the lakes in the valleys
Then baked and scorched it all.
Then over his barren country
He transplanted shrubs from hell.
The cactus, thistle and prickly pear
The climate suited them well.
Now the home was much to his liking
But animal life, he had none.
So he created crawling creatures
That all mankind would shun.
First he made the rattlesnake
With it’s forked poisonous tongue.
Taught it to strike and rattle
And how to swallow it’s young.
Then he made scorpions and lizards
And the ugly old horned toad.
He placed spiders of every description
Under rocks by the side of the road.
Then he ordered the sun to shine hotter,
Hotter and hotter still.
Until even the cactus wilted
And the old horned lizard took ill.
Then he gazed on his earthly kingdom
As any creator would
He chuckled a little up his sleeve
And admitted that it was good.
‘Twas summer now and Satan lay
By a prickly pear to rest.
The sweat rolled off his swarthy brow
So he took off his coat and vest.
“By Golly,” he finally panted,
“I did my job too well,
I’m going back to where I came from,
Texas is hotter than Hell.”
Oh SPAM! Oh SPAM! Gourmet delight!
My food by day, my dreams by night.
To carve, to slice, to dice you up–
pureed in a blender and sipped from a cup.
What shining deity from Olympus knelt
down to the earth and hog butt smelt?
Creating then man’s eternal desire
for swine entrails congealed by fire.
On some corporate farm, a pig has died.
Eyes, tongue, and snout end up inside
that cube of SPAM hidden in the can
I now hold in my trembling hand.
More than mere food, SPAM is for me
a hedonistic expression of gluttonous glee.
Mottled with pork fat, the pink cube engrosses.
My mouth takes it in, my intestine disposes.
Long have my arteries clogged to the sound
of sizzling SPAM when there’s no one around–
furtively chewing or swallowing whole.
Triple bypass by forty, my medical goal.
Other processed meat products I’ve tried or declined
Vienna Sausages, Treat, even pig’s feet in brine.
Though each may be tasty in different ways,
none matches SPAM for gelatinous glaze.
That glistening pinkness beckons me
with gristle, fat, and BHT.
Oh SPAM, my SPAM — the taste, the smell!
The sacred meat product, from Hormel.
‘Twas the night before finals, and all through the college,
The students were praying for last minute knowledge.
Most were quite sleepy, but none touched their beds,
While visions of essays danced in their heads.
In my own apartment, I had been pacing,
And dreaded exams I soon would be facing.
My roommate was speechless, his nose in his books,
And my comments to him drew unfriendly looks.
I drained all the coffee, and brewed a new pot,
No longer caring that my nerves were shot.
I stared at my notes, but my thoughts were muddy,
My eyes went a blur, I just couldn’t study.
“Some pizza might help,” I said with a shiver,
But each place I called refused to deliver.
I’d nearly concluded that life was too cruel,
With futures depending on grades had in school.
When all of a sudden, our door opened wide,
And Patron Saint Put-It-Off ambled inside.
Her spirit was careless, her manner was mellow,
She wore a white toga, she started to bellow:
“What kind of student would make such a fuss,
To toss back at teachers what they tossed at us?”
“On Cliff Notes! On Crib Notes! On last year’s exams!
On Wingit and Slingit, and last minute crams!”
Her message delivered, she vanished from sight,
But we heard her laughing outside in the night.
“Your teachers have pegged you, so just do your best.
Happy finals to all, and to all, a good test!”
Hush little baby don’t you squall
Momma’s gonna buy you a crystal ball
And if you still can’t see beyond
Momma’s gonna buy you a magic wand
And if that wand don’t change your fate
Momma’s gonna teach you to levitate
And if the astral makes you sick,
Momma’s gonna buy you an incense stick
And if that patchouli smells too rank
She’ll buy you a sensory deprivation tank
And if that tank don’t float your bones
Momma’s gonna buy you some precious stones
And if those gems don’t ease your heart
Momma’s gonna buy you a natal chart
And if your planets go berserk
Momma’s gonna buy you some bodywork
And if your aura still needs kneading
Momma’s gonna buy you a past life reading
And if your destiny stays hid
Momma’s gonna buy you a pyramid
And if your chakras still feel stressed
Momma’s gonna take you on a vision quest
And if power animals don’t come to charm ya
Sorry, kid, it’s just your karma.
I’m sure you can imagine
As plain as can be
The place is Piccadilly
The players He and She.
She whispered, “Will it hurt me?”
“Of course not,” answered he.
“It’s a very simple process,
You can rely on me.”
She said, “I’m very frightened,
I’ve not had this before.
My friend has had it five times
And said it can be sore.”
Then finally contented
Lay back and relax a bit
Quickly and readily he bent over her
And then he started it.
It was growing rather painful
Tears formed in her eyes
It was hurting quite a bit now
It must have been quite a size.
“Calm yourself,” he whispered
His face was filled with a grin
“Try and open a bit wider
So I can get it in.”
“It’s coming now,” he whispered
“I know,” she cried in bliss
Feeling it deep within her now
She said “I am glad I am having this.”
And with a final effort
She gave a frightened shout
He gripped it in anguish
And quickly pulled it out.
She lay back quite contended
Sighed and gave a smile
She said “I’m glad I came now.
You made it worth my while.”
Now if you read this carefully
The dentist you will find
Is not what you imagined
It’s just your dirty mind!
So here I sit, in all my glory…
Lend me an ear, and I’ll tell ya a story…
I once had a wife–she was such a dear,
Then came the Net, and it all disappeared!
Now there she sits, for hours on end…
don’t care where I’m goin’, don’t care where I’ve been.
It could be three, or it could be nine…
she really doesn’t care, long as she’s online.
She gets outta work and rushes home,
She comes in yelling at me, “Get off the phone!”
Where is the hug? Where is my kiss?
But she’s at the computer–that’s all she missed!
Talking to cyber friends, checking the mail
I might as well be in a Cyber Jail!
My stomach’s growling–it’s so unfair!
No clean dishes and no clean underwear!
Drink me a beer, stare at the walls
I’ll pick at my teeth and roam the halls,
Farting and burping what a sight to see…
Can you believe she’s there?? When she could be with ME!!
My forgetter’s getting better
But my rememberer is broke
to you that may seem funny
but, to me, that is no joke.
For when I’m “here” I’m wondering
If I really should be “there”
And, when I try to think it through,
I haven’t got a prayer!
Oft times I walk into a room,
Say “what am I here for?”
I wrack my brain, but all in vain
A zero, is my score.
At times I put something away
Where it is safe, but, Gee!
The person it is safest from
Is, generally, me!
When shopping I may see someone,
Say “Hi” and have a chat,
Then, when the person walks away
I ask myself, “who’s that?”
Yes, my forgetter’s getting better
While my rememberer is broke,
And it’s driving me plumb crazy
And that isn’t any joke.
The sky was dark
The moon was high
All alone
Just her and I
Her hair so soft
Her eyes so blue
I knew just what
She wanted to do
Her skin so soft
Her legs so fine
I ran my fingers
Down her spine
I didn’t know how
But I tried my best
To place my hand
On her breasts
I remember my fear
My fast beating heart
But slowly she spread
Her legs apart
And when she did it
I felt no shame
All at once
The white stuff came
At last it’s finished
It’s all over now
My first time
Milking a cow!