spring blooms lost in deep snowdrifts
black ice roads mark highest peaks
shared coats and tea in old flasks
child builds snowman in a lee
night closing in on mountain
cold is seeping into bones
spare layers of clothes shared out
prejudices not valid
morning broken by weak sun
its beauty lost on the group
stranded in bitter landscape
amongst friends of all races
in shorts and sturdy jacket
farmhand comes to the rescue
trek through green valley and dale
assist weekend bushwhackers
to some it was a photo
in local rag or on phone
the essence was lost on most
of people stranded in peace
Jesse rode with Quantrill as did his brother Frank
They were soldiers of the southland before they robbed a bank
Quantrill was a hero to the southern rebels when
He sort of lost control of his senses and his men
His troop was made of hotheads who completely ran amuck
And anyone who crossed them were simply out of luck
They terrorized the boundaries collecting their supplies
Unmindful of the damage, death and neighbor cries
Were they ever here in St. Joe, the rumors say they were
But that’s not been documented and old memories were a blur
There was a barn just south of Bartlett we heard about when young
That really peaked imaginations – kept old Quantrill on our tongue
Did Frank and Jesse go there, did they hide what they had taken
To supply our rebel bushwhackers or were we all mistaken
You know it really doesn’t matter if it was or if it wasn’t
It’s in the mind of dreamers and that my friend just does it
Senator Lindsey Graham is crackers
As are all those Bill Cosby backers
Females are not toys
For abuse by boys
Who are clearly sadistic bushwhackers!
Xylo, you love to eat the paper,
with your green tongue
lapping up every loose crumb
So xylophilous of you ...
The more paper you have,
the more there is to chew
Such a total loser,
with a jelly potbelly, are you
Xylo, you say you hate losers,
but that’s what you are
If winning makes a person sober,
then you’re stone drunk under the bar
So I guess you must hate yourself a lot,
putting all your poker chips in the wrong pot
Laying all your money on the losing side;
thinking them hate rebels gonna get it right,
this time gonna win the fight
No way ... squashed them bushwhackers in the ground,
gave them another thorough Union pound
To bad you bet heavy
on a double dog Confederate dare,
‘cause the only gray that’s winning is in my hair
Xylo, you’re such a loser ...
loving that counterfeit Confederate paper so —
take another big bite,
served up right ... with some Dixie crow