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Poem

At precisely 6:45 each morning
the house, it starts to shake
I don't need a clock
Oh no, for godness sake...

Big Ol' Redneck Piggly Wiggly
goes roaring off to war
I thing I'd rather listen
To seven people snore
His truck must use a jet-engine
And top grade jet fuel too
Just where he works I wonder
But i think I have a clue
When he comes home I 
go just as insane...
He roars in like a 747
Landing on that tiny landing lane

Lumberjack?  Hunter on attack?
Construction worker who needs no tool.
I'm sure he could lift a jetliner
Or maybe I'm again the fool

I'm rather sure, I swear
I'd bet my derriere
No Maitre' D is he...
No Physicist do I there see
Not an MD, mailman, or
salesman...unless he sells
chopped wood...
Maybe a Moonshiner perhaps,
Now that'd be oh so good

I'm ashamed to talk this way
Cause I'm no dandy either
Imagine what he'll say
Of me, no I can't either...

Don't judge a TV show
By critics who critique
They often don't really know
And I guess that's not  unique
They've never watched I know
Just ad-lib it as they go...
I think I'd better end
this silly, silly rhyme
I don't know why I do it
I just do it all the time

I hope you're not too mad
If I seem to have a cause,..mm...mm
And that I didn't  show myself
to be one with adnauseam...

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