Get Your Premium Membership

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




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.