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A Busy Man

by
 This crowded life of God's good giving
No man has relished more than I;
I've been so goldarned busy living
I've never had the time to die.
So busy fishing, hunting, roving, Up on my toes and fighting fit; So busy singing, laughing, loving, I've never had the time to quit.
I've never been one for thinking I've always been the action guy; I've done my share of feasting, drinking, And lots of wenching on the sly.
What all the blasted cosmic show meant, I've never tried to understand; I've always lived just for the moment, And done the thing that came to hand.
And now I'll toddle to the garden And light a good old Henry Clay.
I'm ninety odd, so Lord, please pardon My frequent lapses by the way.
I'm getting tired; the sunset lingers; The evening star serenes the sky; The damn cigar burns to my fingers .
.
.
I guess .
.
.
I'll take .
.
.
time off .
.
.
to die.

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