Michael Kalavik Poet Lyric

American Gothic - With Apologies To Grant Wood

I’d plow four rocky acres, maybe even five,
For a taste of the honey from my Honey’s hive.
No one spices the clover like my lover does
When we meet in the meadow and we buzz, buzz, buzz.

She’s a blue ribbon winner at the county show;
Sings a nice little number, ends in E-I-O.
She can flirt with the judges and they think it’s cute;
When she winks like a barn owl, they shout hoot, hoot, hoot.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, hoot, hoot, hoot.
Dance ‘round the hen house in a chicken suit.
Learn how to juggle, break an egg or two,
Then we’ll make rooster jealous when we doodle-do.

See the ducks swim in circles on the lily pond
And that one lonesome froggie in the mist beyond.
We can drop our pretensions (standing back-to-back),
Then we’ll slip in the water going quack, quack, quack.

I’m a ham-fisted farm boy, Sugar. Holy cow!
Got a stool and a bucket and I do know how.
We’ll have sweet cream and peaches once the milkin’s through,
When our lips come together and we moo, moo, moo.

Quack, quack, quack, moo, moo, moo.
Work like the devil with a pitchfork, too.
Warn all the pigeons we’ll be pitchin’ woo
When we meet in the hayloft and we coo, coo, coo.

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