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Hotcakes on the Table
I sold my accordion ‘cause I couldn’t find the time to play.
Some bum stole my fishin’ pole, but I hardly used it anyway.
I spent my “vacation” pullin’ stumps to clear the lower ten.
And last week that old antique diesel generator broke again.
I should be mucking out the stable. I should be harvesting the wheat,
But when there’s hotcakes on the table, I guess it’s time to take a seat.
Ya don’t need an artist’s soul for to straighten out a crooked frame.
Just stand tall and face the wall; every level’s gonna be the same.
I’m done diggin’ postholes and the generator’s back on line.
The cat’s loose, there’s no excuse not to be my honey’s valentine.
I do my chores as best I’m able; go through ‘em once and then repeat,
But since there’s hotcakes on the table, I’m sure it’s time to take a seat.
I wash up and settle in when my angel fixes me a meal,
Her nightgown all draped around what I’m hopin’ she will soon reveal.
Though I’ve got incentive and the energy to run the farm,
There’s no way I’m bailing hay when my baby takes me by the arm.
She serves a steaming stack of hotcakes; they’re always sugar maple sweet
And when she lays it on the table, I know it’s time to take a seat.
Copyright ©
Michael Kalavik
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