Man Go
My husband and I ate a mango.
Afterwards, we danced the Tango.
I wanted to dance the Flamenco,
My husband wouldn't,
So I let my Man Go.
I would have to find another,
To dance with me, I spied my brother,
My brother said, Shirl, go and ask mother,
I have been painting I will smother,
You with paint my girl.
So my advice is to take a whirl,
Or twist and twirl,
Or maybe curl,
Yourself up in a chair,
So nobody will see you there.
Shirl was tired of prancing around,
Her feet had hardly touched the ground,
Her energy was once renowned,
That was long ago.
When she was young,
The days seemed so happy and gay,
Black and white, no shades of grey,
Today she didn't feel that way.
She was feeling very down.
Like a circus that had lost its clown,
Or a Go-Go dancer,
Who fell off of the stage,
She was feeling quite enraged.
I should not have eaten that Man Go,
The fruit that makes me want to Tango.
Why is it called mango, anyway,
It's not politically correct to say,
MANGO even though my Man ran away
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