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Pappy with the Khaki sweatband |
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Bowed goat potbellied barnyard |
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That only he noticed, the old fart was smart |
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The old gold cloth Madonna |
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Dancin' to the fiddle 'n saw |
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He ran down behind the knoll |
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'N' slipped on his wooden fishhead |
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The mouth worked 'n' snapped |
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All the bees back to the bungalow |
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Momma was flatten 'n' lard |
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With her red enamel rollin' pin |
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When the fishhead broke the window |
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Rubber eye erect 'n' precisely detailed |
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Airholes from which breath should come |
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Is now closely fit with the chatter of the old fart inside |
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An assortment of observations took place |
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Momma licked her lips like a cat |
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Pecked the ground like a rooster |
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Pivoted like a duck |
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Her stockings down caught dust 'n' doughballs |
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She cracked her mouth glaze, caught one eyelash |
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Rubbed her hands on her gorgeous gingham |
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Her hands grasped sticky metal intricate latchwork |
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Open to the room, uh, smell cold mixed with bologna |
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Rubber bands crumpled wax paper bonnets |
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Fat goose legs 'n' special jellies |
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Ignited by the warmth of the room |
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The old fart smelled this through his important breather holes |
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Cleverly he dialed from within from the outside we observed |
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That the nose of the wooden mask |
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Where the holes had just been a moment ago |
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Was now smooth amazingly blended camouflaged in |
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With the very intricate rainbow trout replica |
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The old fart inside was now breathin' freely |
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From his perfume bottle atomizer air bulb invention |
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His excited eyes from within the dark interior glazed |
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Watered in appreciation of his thoughtful preparation |
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Uh man, it's so heavy |
