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The Ballad of Franklin G
Tis time,time time for a tale that's true,
About them boys and what they do,
Away up there on Findlay Creek,
That Franklin G. is such a sneak;
This Poetry Disease
Don't anyone move!
this is a screw-up
I mean a hold-up,
Actually I give up.
The Zen Of Feeding Cows
If the f**king tractor starts,
then feeding becomes
an occidental Tai Chi,
slow and simple and perfect in the flow
I stick my nose in everything
Suck the nectar of each flower.
I poke my beak in every creek
To smell the trout and pondy-weeds
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