Big John

Big John, what a man
Fishin' rod in his left,
a gun in the other hand,
Smart as a whip,
I'd bet he's got one of those, too
Don't piss him off,
He'd as well kill, as cough,
And in his mighty Toyota
Tundra,
He can make that truck thunder,
I worked with him,
Or almost, anyway,
We could never be serious
We suffer from mental decay,
We'd sit and argue
About Dunken Donuts,
And Krispy Kreme,
There aeration ratios
On cruellers,
See what I mean??

So if you meet
the only red-neck in Yonkers,
Don't doubt your senses,
You're not going bonkers.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2007

Poem

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